Lust
by kashkow
Summary: Sometimes you can take the measure of a man by the enemies that he has...Part 2 of the 'Seven Deadly Sins' cycle.


Lust

By Ellen H

Author's Note: Despite the name this is a PG rated story. Part two of my "Seven Deadly Sins" series. And yes, I am aware that there are multiple definitions of the word lust, but what fun would that be? I did work a few different types in, but this is a shorter fic, and I could only get so many in. A big 'Thank You' to a certain someone who gave me part of the plot; She'll know it when she sees it, and should know the danger by now of suggesting things to me.

Jason Pritchard III set at his desk smoking a cigar. It was a Cuban cigar, illegal in the United States, but that didn't matter to Pritchard; few things outside of his business interests did. As he smoked he considered the two files lying on his desk. One was the final report on the disposition of his submarine, the Tantalus. The Tantalus had been badly damaged in an 'incident' two weeks previously. A large amount of money and knowing the right people in the right places had allowed him to have the boat salvaged almost immediately. The cost to fix the submarine was outlandish he thought and he was sure the boat yard he had hired was padding the bill. Not to mention all the government agencies that suddenly felt they had a right to interfere in how his boat was outfitted. That was Nelson's doing he knew, interfering do-gooder. The bribes were going to be astronomical!

Pritchard spun his large, comfortable, leather chair towards the window and looked out from his 80th story office. The office, one of many rooms of Pritchard's private suite on this top floor of the Pritcorp building was outfitted in all the best materials. He considered for a moment exactly what he was going to do with the submarine. Cost overruns for making the boat workable made its viability problematic. Pritchard was notorious in business circles for abandoning nonviable businesses quickly and ruthlessly. In this case he might just lose the money so that Nelson would not have the satisfaction of seeing the submarine dry-docked permanently or sold for scrap.

Pritchard swung back around to his desk and picked up the second file that lay there. Opening it he was faced with the picture of a young man with dark hair and golden hazel eyes. Lee Crane, Navy commander and captain of Harriman Nelson's submarine Seaview. To Pritchard the picture seemed to be laughing at him. It was this man, this young nobody, who brought about the downfall of his submarine, his plans. Pritchard was willing to concede that it was the actions of a third man, a former business associate, that had created the problem, but it had been Crane, and his puppet master Nelson, who had caused the actual damage. And the publicity afterwards! Nothing he could do, no spin-doctors, or words dropped in the right ears, could reverse the media reports on the incident. He had looked like a complete fool!

He slammed shut the file folder and yelled towards the small office where one of his aides was always on call, " Michaels!" The small, timid looking man scuttled out of the other room and stood before the desk. Pritchard liked to have someone at his beck and call at all hours. Business never slept. There was always something going on somewhere, and he wanted to be ready to take care of it. He glared at the aide. "I told you to get rid of this, but here it is back on my desk. What's going on?" he said waving Crane's file.

"I took it back to my office when you told me to. It must have gotten stuck to the back of the Tantalus file somehow. I'll take it now…." He broke off as the large doors leading out to the reception room opened to reveal a tall, blond woman. She was dressed in the most expensive of business suits, fitted jacket and ultra short pin stripped skirt. Her hair and nails were done to perfection. At first glance she appeared to be in her mid-thirties, but a closer look at her eyes, blue and hard, spoke of at least another five years, possibly more. She strode across the office in a confident manner, her whole being shouting 'look at me'. She smiled at the man behind the desk.

"Hello Daddy." She said finally as Pritchard simply stared at her. At close inspection one could see the features they had in common. What was forceful and masculine in Pritchard was forcefully feminine in his daughter.

"Lucinda." Pritchard acknowledge his only child. The sole remaining part of his first marriage, Lucinda had been a terrible disappointment at her birth. Pritchard had expected a male heir. When none of his three subsequent marriages had produced other children he had resigned himself to having a daughter and set out to make sure that she was every bit a Pritchard. She had been in charge of the cosmetic and pharmaceutical divisions of Pritcorp for the last 10 years. Both divisions had prospered and expanded under her direction, and she was showing every sign of being a chip off the old block; ruthless and focused on profits.

She sat in one of the two visitor chairs before Pritchard's desk. Crossing her sleek, tanned legs she cast her eyes over Pritchard's desk, her sharp eyes taking in everything at a glance. She smiled at her father. "Bemoaning the loss of your little toy are we? I heard at the stockholders meeting, the one you missed, that it would take almost half again as much to refit it as its original cost. Too bad, it had potential….once."

"You know nothing about it." Pritchard growled.

"Oh, I know more than you think, daddy. After all your money is my money…eventually." She smiled again.

"Don't count it before you get it. I plan to be here for a long time. Remember your grandfather lived to 95."

"Yes, the old goat. If he hadn't picked up that floozy in the bar…" she waved a hand. Her eyes focused on the other file. She bent forward and took it off the desk.

Pritchard swore, "Put it down!"

She ignored him and opened the file. A slow predatory smile grew on her lips. "Oh my…" she purred. She looked up at her father. "Don't tell me you've finally quit chasing the twenty three year old models and have decided on something a little more dangerous. Bunny will be so disappointed. She won't be able to compete. He's so much prettier."

"Your step-mother's name is Bonnie, as you should well know after 20 years." He looked at his aide who had been making a valiant attempt to blend into the background. "Michaels," he snapped at the aide, who jumped, "take the file and get out."

Michaels went to the side of the chair and reached for the file. Lucinda Pritchard smiled at her father and took the picture out of the file then handed it to the aide who clutched it to his chest and scurried out of the room. The woman looked at the picture again and then at her father.

"A perspective employee? If you don't want him, I'll take him." She said huskily. She had been married twice, both times resulting in a large alimony settlement to her benefit, and rumors abounded about her sexual appetite.

"You'd have to pry him loose from Nelson first, and I don't think that's going to happen. Nelson has him dancing to his tune 100%. Bought the whole line of ecological preservation bullshit, doesn't know what's good for him."

She raised a sculpted brow. "Oh, so this is the one. Crane, wasn't it, the captain of the Seaview? I didn't know Nelson had such good taste. It obviously pays to hang out at those military functions. I'll have to go to some."

"I don't want to talk about it. What do you want?"

"Getting grouchy in your old age daddy? Must be time for a new wife. Bonnie not working out the frustrations anymore, after all, she's what 43, 44 now, practically over the hill for your purposes."

"Stop it Lucinda. What do you want?"

"You're no fun lately, ever since that incident with the submarine in fact. That's why I'm here by the way." She rose and walked over to the built-in bar. She poured a shot of whiskey in one glass and mixed a scotch and water in another. Coming back to the desk she handed the whiskey to Pritchard and then sat back down. "The board is…concerned. They feel that you might be thinking about refitting the submarine to save face. To show Nelson that he's not the only one that can build and operate his own submarine. They are concerned you'll let your ego get in the way of profit." She sipped at the scotch and water.

Pritchard tossed back his whiskey and slammed the glass onto the desk. "And what do you think?" he growled.

She smiled, "I think you'll do what you want despite what the board thinks. I have no doubt your ego is super-inflated and that you hate Nelson. I understand that Hargrove committed suicide before the police could get to him. Is the trial for that technician that Nelson's men caught soon?"

"Yes, the fool shot himself in his old office, made a hell of a mess. I'm looking into suing the estate for damages, but he had just gone bankrupt and I doubt if we'll get anything back there. The trial for the technician is in three weeks. I'll have to go testify, I've been subpoenaed. More media attention I don't need."

"Yes, I'm afraid you didn't exactly strike the heroic figure one would have wanted. Crane and Nelson on the other hand seemed to have come out of it smelling like roses. One of my lobbyist connections who's met Nelson says that he's been approached by the Navy and several more covert agencies about the machine that he used to stop your little toy. Seems that he's got the patent on it and everyone is talking about how there's a rather large amount of money being offered for the technology. Too bad Daddy; missed out all around."

Pritchard slammed a hand down on the desk and surged to his feet. He started pacing around the large room. His daughter's eyes followed him as she sipped at her drink. "You can make fun of it Lucinda, but remember that the publicity effects all parts of Pritcorp, including your divisions. I would suggest you quit with the catty remarks and focus on how we can overcome it."

Lucinda smiled a cool smile at him, and then looked back at the picture she had in her lap. She ran one blood red nail over the flat surface, tracing the good-looking face. "I don't think were going to be able to reverse what's been said, and everything will come out again at the trial, just that much more bad publicity. It's a shame that the man couldn't just plead guilty and get it over with. Just a sentencing hearing and he disappears into the prison system for years. No story there." She suggested.

Pritchard stopped his pacing, and stood for a moment considering. He slowly started nodding his head. "I think a few words in the right ears and we might just be able to do that. I understand that Halliburton, that's the technician's name, has a wife. Perhaps he would like to see her taken care of after he goes to prison. I will have Barber take care of it." There was a gleam back in the dark blue eyes he turned on his daughter, a gleam of pride that his blood had bred true.

His daughter rose and came to stand before him. "So, that takes care of one problem. Now the other."

Pritchard frowned. "What other?"

She smiled nastily, "Why making sure that Nelson knows who he's messing with. You can't just let him get away with this. You're already the laughing stock of the boardroom, if you let this go on you might as well retire to that little island of yours with Betty and her plastic surgeon. You'll be useless once the other wolves smell blood."

Pritchard growled and stalked back to his desk, flinging himself into the chair. He ignored the intentional mispronunciation of his wife's name. "You'd love that wouldn't you? I go retire somewhere and you move in." He waved a hand to take in the office. "No way! I hold the controlling interest in Pritcorp, I go when I WANT to."

She sauntered back to the chair. Shrugging, she smiled again "Then you need to make sure that everyone knows that no one makes you look like a fool and gets away with it. Hit Nelson where it hurts. Everyone will know what it means to mess with Jason Pritchard the third."

Pritchard smiled, liking the idea of making Nelson pay for his public humiliation, but how? He leaned back in his chair and turned his mind to the problem. He thought about what he had learned over the years about Nelson, and what he had learned recently about Crane. One thing that stuck in his mind from his encounter with the two men was the last time he had seen them. They had been standing on the conning tower of the Seaview, side by side, and Nelson had put his hand on Crane's shoulder and turned him back toward the hatch. . There had been something familiar in that touch, something …Pritchard couldn't quite put a name to it. But it had made him think.

He had sent one of his investigators to find some ex-employees of the Nelson Institute. After several attempts to get information only to be stymied by a still loyal, tight-lipped group of people, the investigator had found one man, employed at the Institute for only a month, who was bitter enough to be willing to talk about what he had seen and heard while he was there. A few drinks, and the man had gossiped like an old woman in a hair salon. It seemed that Crane was Nelson's fair-haired boy so to speak. He could do no wrong. That he was the heir apparent was the rumor going around. Their informant said that everyone felt that Nelson and Crane were like father and son.

Pritchard felt a smile growing on his face, and he met his daughter's eyes. "Who do you have in Costa Nuesta?" he asked out of nowhere, referring to the small South American country that had been their southern headquarters.

She raised a sculpted eyebrow in puzzlement "Friends? A few. Employees? Several. People who owe me? Many. Why?"

"I understand the there has been quite a bit of unrest in the hills, rebels or something like that?"

"Yes, that's why I had the botanicals lab moved up to Venezuela. The rebels are particularly focused on foreign business interests. Several had their compounds over ran and burned, their employees killed or held for ransom. Why?" she asked again.

"Nelson and his submarine are down there now. He's poking his nose into some scientific hoopla about El Nino or something. He's supposedly working with the government to ease the impact on coastal fisheries or some such twaddle. Wouldn't you say he and his men would be prime targets for foreigner hating rebels?"

A slow smile of appreciation spread across his daughter's face. She nodded her understanding. "I could make some…arrangements. Nelson should be easy to take. I understand he doesn't have any security…." She stopped as Pritchard started shaking his head.

"Not Nelson. Here's what I want you to do…" He detailed the plan that had seemed to spring full blown into his mind. When he was done outlining his plan he sat back in his chair, as he saw the spark of appreciation in his daughter's cold blue eyes he let a self satisfied smirk grow on his lips.

"This old dog can still teach you a few things about revenge. Remember that when you get a little too ambitious."

She looked at him with an attempt at innocence, one hand spread on her chest as if asking 'Who, Me?'

He laughed. "Who will you have do it? That sycophant you call a boy friend?"

"Edward? No I'm afraid Edward was all talk and very little action. I've moved on. I think I'll take a little trip down myself, check on a few…business interests, talk to some…friends. It seems like it could be entertaining." She picked up the photo she had laid aside, and once again ran a fingernail down it.

"Stick with the plan." Pritchard warned. "There's no time for you to indulge in your little games."

She smiled benignly, "There's always time for games, Daddy. After all it's these little diversions that make life worthwhile." She stood and started for the door. "Don't worry," she said speaking over her shoulder. "I'll take care of everything. By next week Nelson will be sorry he ever crossed you. You can use the time figuring out how you want to tell him." She went out of the office.

Pritchard sat back in his chair. An evil smile grew on his face as he imagined the look on Nelson's face when he revealed what he had done.

Chapter 2

Admiral Harriman Nelson (Ret.) stomped up the gangplank that led to his submarine. His face was a dark thundercloud of anger. Crewmen, going about their duties steered well clear of the admiral, easily recognizing the signs of the famous Nelson temper. He made his way swiftly down to the control room where he came face to face with COB Sharkey at the base of the ladder. Sharkey, veteran of many years at sea with many commanders, recognized the signs immediately and quickly side stepped out of Nelson's way. For once discretion won out over his chatty nature and he did not try to engage the boat's owner and designer in conversation.

Sharkey noted that the admiral was moving quickly toward the nose where the Seaview's captain, Lee Crane, was working on some papers. The captain had been finishing off reports this morning, after an inspection of the engine room. He and Sharkey had spent a satisfying hour going over the room practically rivet by rivet, and had been happy to find nothing amiss. There was a small anchor watch aboard, under Sharkey's supervision, and they were taking the opportunity to make sure that the Seaview was in perfect condition. Her captain, always anxious that the boat and men be ready at all times for any eventuality had been pleased so far as they had worked through compartment after compartment, inspecting and repairing.

That the captain of the boat would himself be bothered to undertake such inspections was a sign of just how good a captain Lee Crane was, in the eyes of his crew. The captain could have been off on liberty like most of the other officers and men, but instead had chosen to stay on board. Sharkey had heard the discussion between the captain and the executive officer of the boat, Chip Morton, when the XO had tried to get the captain to go along on the tour that almost half of the crew was to enjoy. They were going up to the Atacama Desert to see the strange mummified remains that had been found there in the cold, high desolation. Thought to be left over from the time of the Incas, they were quite the tourist attraction, and the XO had already met several young ladies, traveling with another tour, to make the trip that much more entertaining. Sharkey had to smile again as he remember the captain telling the XO that he had had more than enough of mummies of recent late, and he was just going to stay on board. More protests from the XO had resulted in the captain promising to get off the boat for some local entertainment, but he had stubbornly refused to budge on the mummy tour as he called it.

Now it seemed that the captain was about to get an earful from the admiral. Whatever had set off the older man, Sharkey was glad that he would not be on the receiving end of it. Not that the Skipper couldn't handle it. If there was anyone that could deal with Nelson in a bad mood it was the Skipper. No one could weather the admiral's spurts of fiery temper like Crane. Sharkey had been witness to, or heard rumors of, several heated battles where the younger man had given as good as he got. The Admiral might be able to intimidate almost everyone else by the sheer force of personality, but not Crane. Sharkey sauntered up to the chart table, a safe distance from the danger zone, but within hearing range. After all he was the COB; he needed to know what was going on so he could be ready to help when needed.

Lee Crane looked up from his reports to find his boss and friend, Harriman Nelson, bearing down on him at flank speed. As he caught sight if the look on Nelson's face he had a brief flash of used to be called a 'fire ship' bearing down on him. Fire Ships had been used in long ago wooden ship warfare. The enemy would catch several boats at anchor, and would send another boat, engulfed in flames among them, hoping to cause damage and panic. No fire ship bearing down on your anchored ship could have been as formidable as the sight of Nelson's compact form bearing down on you in full temper. Crane lay down his pencil, and sat up straight to stretch his back. He decided that he might as well feed a little more fuel into the fire in the hopes it would burn itself out quickly.

"Admiral, we didn't expect you back in time for lunch! Williams has outdone himself today, I understand he's making tuna sandwiches and canned tomato soup. Should be good." He said cheerily.

Nelson shot him a disgusted look and after going to the credenza and pouring himself a glass of whiskey flung himself into to chair opposite his young captain. He drank about half the golden liquid and then growled at Crane. "Can't that man actually cook anything? Why the hell is he the relief cook if all he can make is sandwiches and soup? In fact what good is he at all?"

Crane, silently amused, kept his face solemn. "He's the best man we've found with the generators. O'Brien says the man is number one when it comes to temperamental electrical machines, that plus the fact that he's the only one that wanted to cross train in the galley. You've got to admit he does have a flair for…interesting sandwich combinations." He thought back to the previous day's lunch, which had been universally snubbed by the crew until they saw their captain trying out the avocado and alfalfa sprouts on whole-wheat sandwich with a bowl of canned clam chowder. The relief cook had been over run with requests for seconds. It had been a personal triumph.

Nelson harrumphed, taking another drink. Crane could see that the flare of anger in the blue eyes was starting to fade. He turned his attention back to his reports. He was almost done for the day, and had planned to get out this afternoon and see some of the local sights. They were docked in a small bay to the north of one of Costa Nuestra's busiest harbors, taking advantage of the quieter facilities and proximity to the university labs where Nelson was working. He really didn't want to go down into the city, preferring to see some of the local ruins that were located further north along the coastline. Crane loved the sea, and after spending time on his boat, spending time near the seashore, any seashore, was his next great love. There were a series of old Incan ruins that dotted the shore for miles that he had planned on touring. He knew that if he didn't get off the boat for some length of time he would hear about it from not only his friend and XO Morton, but also from Will Jamieson, the ship's CMO. Jamieson took the health, both physical and mental, of the crew personally, and he paid special attention to his captain. Crane could never quite understand why everyone seemed to think they knew what was best for him. He was happy and relaxed spending time on his boat, why should he go somewhere else to try to be happy and relaxed? That argument got him nowhere.

They sat for several minutes more, Nelson sipping at his drink, and Crane working on his reports. The captain was aware of Sharkey puttering around the chart table, and for a moment considered sending him off on some errand, but he knew that the COB would be severely put out if he couldn't find out what was going on with the admiral. While ordinarily Crane would frown on the eavesdropping, he knew that Sharkey was only interested so that he could do his job better. The devoted chief was quirky, but he got the job done, and there was no one more loyal to Nelson. Crane liked that in a man. Looking back at his reports he signed off on the last one with a flourish, and sat back in his chair, stretching again. It would feel good to get out and stretch his legs. He dropped the pencil on the table and sat back, meeting Nelson's eyes. "Want to talk about it?" he inquired.

Nelson, knowing he had been 'handled' once again by his captain, shook his head in amusement. As he had sipped his drink he had felt the anger slowly draining away. It had something to do with the calm acceptance that he had received from his younger friend. He knew he could talk about it or not, and Crane would be happy to listen or to let it go as Nelson preferred. It had been the perfect way of cooling down, and he considered his answer. There was not really any solution to the problem that had him in such a mood, and he acknowledged that he WAS in a full-blown nasty temper. He had been around government stooges enough that he should be inured to their stubborn stupidity by now, but no. When faced with the results of the month long study they had just completed the government official to whom they were speaking looked at them and to all intents and purposes said "so what?', as if their research and recommendations had no validity, no value. He had made it more than clear that while the government intended to pay lip service to the local fisheries industry by funding the research, _and poorly at that_ Nelson thought, they didn't intend to actually DO anything about it.

Nelson had made sure that the government official had no doubts as to exactly how he felt about THAT. He had left the small meeting room at the university labs in high temper, and had fumed all the way back to the Seaview. Now, sitting and looking into the slightly amused golden eyes of his captain, he felt slightly foolish for letting his temper get out of control. He shook his head. "I'm not sure I can tell you about it without getting angry again."

Crane smiled a little. "We have lots of whiskey and I have the keys to the boat so have at it."

Nelson got up and poured himself more whiskey and then reseated himself. As he sipped the second glass he told Crane about his morning meeting. Crane listened sympathetically, and shook his head. "I can't say that I'm surprised. Velasquez's government has been collecting up every Peseta it can through taxes and fines, along with nationalizing most of the foreign business that weren't making high enough payoffs to someone in the cabinet. I understand that the growing rebel presence in the hills is causing some sleepless nights in the capital. I was frankly surprised when you said we were coming here. I wouldn't have thought that they would even make the effort. Velasquez and his advisors didn't strike me as being smart enough to make nice to the 'little people', even in a token way like this."

"You've met them?" Nelson said, trying to remember when that could have happened.

Crane nodded. "Last year, May I think it was, right after the 'great revolution' when they took over. I was….advising some of the rebels. Wasn't much that could be done at that time, what with most of the army on Velasquez's side and the people fooled by his rhetoric, but we saved some lives. That counts for a lot. I was 'officially' here as an aide to Admiral West, got to do the traditional inaugural ball thing."

Nelson nodded as he realized that Crane was speaking of an ONI assignment. That his captain was in high demand by the covert agency was something of a sore spot. He was halfway between angry that they could take his man away, and so very proud that Crane was the best at what he did. Neither emotion kept him from being very worried when the younger man disappeared on a mission. It seemed he could count on one hand the number of missions that Crane had completed without some complication resulting in physical or mental damage. Nelson, with Chip Morton's able help, was constantly trying to convince Crane that being the commander of Seaview was more excitement than any one man needed. Crane had pointed out that it wasn't any safer on Seaview come to that, and had blithely gone off on another ONI mission.

"Be that as it may, the research exists. We have ample reason to believe that the El Nino is coming to an end. We can only hope that it won't swing the other way now and go to the La Nina side. I don't think they can take severe flooding on top of the current political situation. This group wouldn't spend a dime to preserve lives. At least this way it's only livelihoods being affected. If they would only support the fisheries for a few more months they would be able to reap the benefits when the currents switch back to a more normal temperature range. The fisheries will once again prosper, and that would bring more money into their coffers."

"They don't see the value of spending money now to get more later though." Crane concluded.

"No." Nelson agreed. "I don't know what to do next. I have another meeting with Professor Dominguez tomorrow, and we're due to take a tour of the marine botanical aquarium the day after that. I'm tempted to tell him we've been put on active duty and leave, but he's a good man and I think he was as disappointed and surprised as I was."

"The crew aren't due back until tomorrow night anyway, without us putting out a call that is. About half of them are up in the Atacama staring at mummies today and tomorrow anyway. You can meet with the professor tomorrow and then go see the aquarium the next day and we'll sail right after. You won't have to deal with any more government toadies, and you'll keep the professor happy." Crane suggested.

Nelson finished his second drink, and nodded. It sounded like a good plan. He looked back to Crane. "Did I hear you say something about tuna fish and tomato soup earlier?" he asked. Crane nodded. Nelson grimaced "The last time I ate his tuna fish it stayed with me for two days. I think I'll pass." He eyed the pile of completed reports, noticing that some of his own seemed to be in the stack. "I understood from Chip that you were going to be spending a little time off the boat."

Crane threw him a long-suffering look. "I was planning on going this afternoon. I'm going to go see the ruins to the north of here. That should satisfy Mother Morton as an outing don't you think?" He said sarcastically.

Nelson smiled, his good humor restored. "I understand that the café at the end of the street has a fine menu. How about lunch?" He stopped at suggesting that he would also like to see the ruins, not having had much time to sightsee, but he didn't want Crane to feel obligated to ask him along. He was very conscious that he made a lot of demands on Lee Crane's time, what with one thing or another on the Seaview or at the Institute. He also knew that Crane would never say that it was too much. Self-sacrifice was an integral part of Crane's make-up. Nelson thought of the younger man as a son, and knew that the feelings were reciprocated in full. While he enjoyed spending time with Crane outside of the regular day to day routines, he did not want to interfere in the other man's life, in his personal time.

Crane smiled at him. "Why don't we both change and get on our hiking boots. I understand that there's quite a walk out to one of the ruins. I have a jeep waiting and we can leave from the café."

"Lee…." Nelson started in protest. Only to stop when Crane raised a hand and smiled gently.

"I was going to ask you anyway, if you got back in time." He said simply.

Nelson smiled back and rose to his feet. "Let's go then. I'll meet you back down here in 10 minutes?"

"Sounds good." Crane replied as he followed Nelson toward the stairs. As he followed his friend and mentor up the stairs, Crane saw Sharkey smiling after them, and smiled back. Another Nelson nuclear explosion averted, everyone was happy.

Chapter 3

Two hours later Crane was sitting on the top of a partially collapsed wall of a building that had once stood as a sentinel over a small bay. It was on a point, jutting out into the ocean, perched high over the crashing waves. From his perch on the wall Crane could look down over 50 feet to the wave-washed rocks. To the west, there was only the open ocean, sunlight, and the occasional seabird sailing the rising thermals along the shore. He sat, his legs drawn up and arms wrapped around them, eyes locked on the horizon, wondering. The place he sat had been a built in 'window' in the wall, perhaps made for someone to sit and watch. Watch for what, enemies attacking from the sea? How long ago had it been that some man, or woman, was assigned to watch from this very spot? Had generations of watchers sat just as he did, taking in the magnificence of the view? Turning his head inland he scanned the ruins looking for Nelson. He found the man leaning over a small stele, studying the writings inscribed in the stone. It would not surprise him to find that Nelson could read the ancient writings.

The older man had never stopped surprising him since they had met many years ago at the Naval Academy. That Nelson was a genius was well known, that he was so much more only a few knew, and Crane counted himself fortunate to be one of them. He knew that Nelson truly was a renaissance man. The only person that he had ever found to compare to Nelson, as far as he was concerned, was Leonardo Divinci. The comparison was apt he knew. Nelson had interests in just about every field of science, and had basically started some fields of his own. The man could converse in several languages, about almost any subject. He was incredibly well read, and knew people everywhere.

Crane turned his head back to the sea, and let the slight breeze blow over him as he closed his eyes and listened to the pounding surf below. It was a comforting sound, a sound that was part of him in ways he couldn't understand. Nelson had told him once that he believed that the response was a genetic memory from a time when every living thing was a part of the ocean. It was home.

Nelson straightened from his study of the stele, a small flat stone buried on end on end in the ground, near the doorway of the building. It had been inscribed with the Incan writing, detailing the glorious defeat of an enemy attack by the troops of an Incan king. The outpost had been on the first line of defense for the onetime huge Incan empire, and Nelson imagined that it had seen its share of battles over a thousand years ago. While his own ancestors had still been painting themselves blue and living in grass huts in the bogs of Ireland, these people had beautiful cities of stone, with highly complicated irrigation systems, astrological calculations that only now were being equaled by modern science, and a dynamic system of roads and long range communications. Fascinating.

He turned to look for Lee, knowing that he had wondered off on his own when Nelson had stopped to translate the stone. He finally found the still figure seated on the wall. Crane was seated in the remains of a window in the outer wall of the building. Nelson knew that it was on the edge of the cliff, and while he could understand the attraction of the view, he was worried that the ancient wall might choose that moment to give up its fight against the hand of erosion. Crane was sitting there with knees drawn up and face turned to the sea. Nelson had seen him in this pose before, usually seated on some rock near the water. Almost any type of water: ocean, lake, river, creek, rain, it seemed to speak to the younger man in all of its forms. In all his years at sea Nelson had never met anyone who belong there like Crane. As he watched Crane turned his head back around to look at him. Nelson smiled and waved an arm. Crane nodded and started to climb down, moving gracefully down the crumbling walkway that led up to the window. In a few moments he was at Nelson's side.

"Where to next Admiral? I think that we have plenty of time to go see that place the farmer was talking about. He said it wasn't much of a tourist attraction, maybe there will be more of the inscriptions." He said.

They had run into a farmer with his donkey, who had given them directions to this outpost. This one had been so good; Nelson didn't doubt that the other would be just as fine.

"Sounds good Lee, but I'm warning you, after all this exercise I am not going to be able to survive on a sandwich."

Crane laughed. "Don't worry sir, Cookie's due back at 1800 today. I think he could be persuaded to whip up a little something for you."

The two men laughed together as they headed out through the small door on the landward side of the building. Nelson went first, followed closely by Crane. Nelson had taken several steps before his peripheral vision caught movement along the outside wall. He was turning to get a look when he heard a grunt and a thud. Turning all the way around he saw Crane, lying on the ground, unmoving, and four men with scarves wrapped around their face baring only their eyes, with rifles pointed at him.

"What the hell…" he started to say, and then made a move to go to Crane. A rifle was swiftly stuck in his stomach, and he staggered back against a wall.

The four men conversed rapidly in a local dialect with which Nelson was not familiar, though he picked up a few words here and there. The one that chilled his blood was "kill".

"Look," he said in his reasonable Spanish. "I have money. I haven't seen your faces, and there's no way you can be caught. Take my wallet and the keys to the jeep and let us go." It would be a long walk back to town, but at least they would be alive.

There was more discussion among the four, and then two of the men went to Crane and started dragging him to his feet. The each stretched a limp arm over their shoulders and started to drag the unconscious man down the path. Nelson started forward trying to prevent them from taking Crane. Once again the rifle was swung into his midsection, and he slumped breathless against the wall, watching as the two men dragged Crane out of sight. The remaining two men waited until their confederates disappeared around the first bend of the trail, then one of them followed. The remaining man moved in close to Nelson.

"Foreign stooges of the government are not welcome in our ancient places. This is a warning to you and your kind. You help Velasquez and his thieves and you will die. Take this message back to your friends." He said in slow Spanish, watching to be sure that Nelson understood. He turned to go.

Nelson held out a hand. "My friend is only here because he works for me. If you want to punish someone, take me."

The other man shook his head and started down the path. "Do not try to follow, or your friend will be executed in front of you." were the last words Nelson heard as the man went down the path and disappeared around the bend.

Nelson slid down the side of the building, holding his bruised midsection, his eyes never leaving the turn of the path, as if he expected Crane to reappear. He couldn't believe how swiftly things had changed. One minute he had been enjoying a quiet outing with his friend, the next… He had to get back to Seaview, contact the authorities, and find out how to get Lee back. He knew there would be no shortage of volunteers among the crew, and he hoped it would be enough. After five minutes he thought that there was no chance of him catching up to the kidnappers and putting Lee at risk so he got to his feet, wincing at the ache in his stomach, and started slowly down the path.

It was four hours later when Chip Morton slid down the main access ladder rapidly, landing at the bottom with a thump. He was turned around and heading for the nose when he saw Sharkey trying to catch up to him. He stopped and turned to the COB.

"What the hell is going on Chief? I got an emergency page when we were out in the middle of nowhere, and had to pay the bus driver over 800 Peseros to bring us all back tonight instead of tomorrow. Where is everyone, there was only one crewman on the deck watch and no officer."

Sharkey's face was grim as he nodded along to his XO's wrathful diatribe. "Every available man is helping with the search Mr. Morton. The admiral authorized it before he went out with one of the search parties."

"Search party for who? And don't tell me that the captain agreed to leave the anchor watch short handed in a strange port at night."

"We got everything battened down, sir. There's no access except through the main hatch, and with Biggins up there ain't no one sneaking onboard. He's armed too, admiral's orders."

Morton was not diverted by the chief's assurance. He instantly realized that Sharkey had not answered the question he had asked. "Where's the captain?" he growled, blue eyes flashing.

"Uh….The Skipper and Admiral Nelson were up looking at those old ruins up the coast a ways. When they were walking out four guys wearing masks and carrying rifles jumped them. They knocked out the skipper before he could do anything, and they took him. Told the admiral that they were doing it because we were helping the government and that the skipper was gonna be an example. The admiral is really pissed, sir." He concluded.

Morton shook his head in disbelief. He knew he should have stood his ground with Crane and made him go on the tour. Not that it would have kept him out of trouble he knew, but at least Morton would have been there to help. He shook off the guilty feelings and brought his mind back to the practicalities. "Was the admiral hurt?" he knew that Nelson would not have allowed Crane to be taken easily.

"Doc says he's got some bad bruising on his stomach, and a cracked rib on the left side. The bastards took a rifle to him I guess. He wouldn't stay on board, he insisted on leading the first search party out."

Morton started taking off the sport coat he had been wearing, and headed toward the spiral staircase. If he was going looking for his best friend, he wanted to be in his khakis. It would be easier to deal with the local authorities that way.

As he climbed the stairs he was thinking about his friend and captain, Lee Crane. They had met as midshipmen at the Naval Academy, and had remained good, if distant, friends over the years. That had changed when Crane had come to be Seaview's captain after the death of her first captain, John Phillips. There had been some period of adjustment for them all, but slowly the close friendship that they had enjoyed at the academy had reasserted itself, and they were even better friends now. Morton thought it was the shared danger as much as the continual contact. There was nothing like being kidnapped by aliens to make you appreciate your friends, though it was more than that. The same courage and force of will that that been so evident in the young Lee Crane had matured to make a truly likable person, once you got past the defenses. The man had always been quiet and brooding of nature, and had not truly opened up about his childhood until almost 2 years after they had met. Chip on the other hand had been more than willing to share his extended family with the younger boy. The two opposites, light and dark of coloring had formed a formidable team at the academy, and Morton liked to think that they had formed an even better one now.

Some people had wondered why he stayed on Seaview since he had seemingly been passed over for the command, and it didn't seem that there was going to be any opening for a captain anytime soon. Not exactly great chance for advancement there. But Morton knew that the best man for the job had been found, and he was content, at least for now, to be what he was. He was a good XO, and while he knew he could be a captain, he would never be the captain Crane was, at least not on the Seaview. The Seaview was made for Crane, and while there might be a boat out there in his future, for now he would stay here with his friends, his family.

As he was changing into his khakis he considered exactly when Lee Crane had become a brother to him. Had it been back in the academy when his parents had all but adopted the younger man? Had it been later as they were going through Groton, and Crane had been there to help Morton through the dreaded fluid dynamics equations? Maybe it was later, after they had saved each other's lives several times over. Whenever it had been, it had happened, and Chip wouldn't have it any other way, even though Crane had proven to be a very high-maintenance brother. He was a walking trouble magnet! It made for a lot of stress on his friends, but it was an integral part of the man, and none of his friends or family would change that. In fact Morton took it upon himself as the older brother to extract his friend out of the trouble he got into, and this time would be no different. Crane just needed to hold on. The cavalry, in the person of Chip Morton and the crew of the Seaview, was coming. He finished tying his shoes and with a quick swipe at his hair he was out the door of his cabin to bring his captain, friend, brother home.

Chapter 5-

It was dark wherever Lee Crane was. He knew he was lying on a dusty, hard surface, and that there were people speaking a language other than English not too far away. His ached so much that he couldn't be bothered to translate the words. He rolled over onto his side, and his hand brushed what he was laying on, it was dirt. Why would he be lying in the dirt with a headache, listening to people talk in the distance? He tried to focus on his last memory, but it seemed to dance just beyond his reach. He struggled to a seated position, his knees drawn up and aching head pillowed on his arms on top of his knees. He concentrated, trying to make sense of the pictures flying through his head. Suddenly his head snapped up, ignoring the pain that shot through it at the movement, and looked wildly around. There was no sign of Nelson.

He could remember now. They had been leaving the ruins, and he had become aware of the presence of other men just shortly before a large weight had come crashing down on him, sending him spiraling into a blackness that only gave way just moments before. What had happened? Who had attacked them, and where was Nelson? His heart ached at the thought that they had killed the older man and had left his body behind. He knew that of the two he was far less important than Nelson, and would be of little value for any type of ransom, so he couldn't see them taking him and leaving Nelson behind alive. He struggled up to his feet, and stood still with his eyes closed as the darkness suddenly threatened to overcome him again. _Oh yeah_, he thought, _there's a concussion in there somewhere. _Jamieson would be thrilled.

He put out a hand in the darkness, and touched a wall. He could tell by the feel of it that it was made of rough mud mixed with straw, the adobe of which the poorer houses were made here in Costa Nuestra. So he was in a hut, with a dirt floor. He felt along the wall, moving carefully in case there was something he could not see in the darkness. He realized now that there was some light seeping through the cracks in what had to be a type of shutter over a window, and through what was probably a badly constructed door. He approached it and felt for a handle, but found none, a prison then. Crane debate if he should pound on the door or wait to let his captures know that he was conscious. He heard the voices again, and this time the words were making sense. He would wait and see what he could over hear.

"…she will be here in an hour. Is everything else set up?"

"Yes. We took his clothing and his ring. It will be sent with the video to the TV station."

Crane looked down at himself and realized that not only was his class ring missing from is left hand but his clothes had been exchanged for simple peasant clothing. White cotton pants, large white shirt, and huaraches. _What video_, he wandered, and who was 'she'?

The voices outside continued, "The drunk is happy with his new clothes and has had so much mescal that he won't even know we are doing. It is good we are using a stake or he would not be able to stand." There was coarse laughter, and the men seemed to move away from the hut. Crane leaned back against the wall, and slid down until he was seated. His head was pounding fiercely, and he was trying to make sense of what he had heard and having no success. Pulling up his legs he once again rested his head against them. He never realized when the darkness returned and he sank back into unconsciousness.

He didn't know how long had passed when he next became aware, but the interior of his hut was lit by rays of sunshine coming through the gaps in the shutter and the door. He looked around, pretty much confirming what little he could figure out the night before. The hut was empty, and had one window and a door both on the same wall. He rose, happy to note that his head didn't hurt as much as before. Moving to the door he put one eye to the largest of the gaps, and studied what he could of the outside. There were people moving about, and one man stood in front of his hut, his back turned. Evidently he was under guard. He could see several other huts, and one larger building made of concrete blocks. Beyond the edge of the clearing he could see jungle, and he knew he had been brought inland, up into the mountains. He had spent several weeks with a rebel group there last year, and he had gotten to know the look of the local flora very well. He saw several people dressed as he was, obviously busy with menial jobs. Then, he saw him, standing near the block building speaking with another man, Enrique Ortiz.

Crane moved back to his position against the wall and considered. If Ortiz was here he wasn't in any rebel camp. Ortiz, also known as El Carnicero, The Butcher, was one of Velasquez's chief advisors. A ruthless killer who enjoyed his work, he had been appointed by 'El Presidente' to clear the rebels out of the hills. He had started his job by burning village after village and killing anything that moved. International protest had made no difference, and the killing went on. Whatever was going on, it was going on with the cooperation of the government, all the more puzzling. Crane desperately wanted to know what had happened to Nelson. The comment the night before about his ring and a video to be sent to a TV station suggested some kind of ransom demand, but he wasn't sure why the change of clothes.

Crane had no illusions about his value. The United States government would not pay ransom or mount a rescue for one man. His adoptive parents wouldn't care, and there was not really anyone else from his life before the academy that would either. Chip cared, but didn't have that kind of money. The only person who would care enough, and who had deep enough pockets to satisfy a ransom demand was Nelson. Crane tried to take some comfort in that thought. Perhaps that was why Nelson wasn't here. He had to be available to pay the ransom. It was much more comforting thought than the alternative. Not that Crane was happy to be used as a pawn in whatever games the government was playing with Nelson. He didn't know how they had come to know the relationship between Nelson and himself. Why him, rather than any other employee, if they didn't know. There had been plenty of opportunity to snatch any of a hundred men over the last weeks, and they had waited for him. Crane sighed. He knew what he, Crane, got out of the relationship that had developed, but it seemed that all he offered Nelson was worry and now evidently a large cash payout.

He wasn't sure if Nelson would pay a ransom or not. He knew that the admiral, ONI trained as he was, would not be sitting still waiting to be contacted. He would be trying to locate Crane through contacts. He had no doubt that Nelson would be burning up the airwaves to ONI asking for sources of help. But in the end it might come down to pay or not pay. Crane thought that Nelson would pay the ransom and while he could not but be grateful for the sentiment, he could wish that the need hadn't arose. He was determined to escape if possible. He had his own contacts in these hills, and if he could get away he would be safe with them until he could contact Nelson. He would have to be very careful about who he trusted however since the government was involved.

He was starting to realize how thirsty he was when he heard voices approaching the hut. He swiftly rose to his feet and moved to the back of the hut, facing the door. He didn't know what they wanted, but he was not going to make it easy for them, and there might be the chance of escape. The door creaked open, and a man came with a rifle aimed at Crane's chest, he was followed by two other men who came in and grabbed Crane by the arms, and started dragging him toward the door. He resisted as best he could, but they were large men, and with the rifle pointed in his direction at all times there wasn't any opportunity to use his ONI training to make a break. He was dragged out into the clearing, and brought to a standstill near an old army truck. There were a group of men, their faces covered in scarves and masks, standing in the middle of the clearing, armed with rifles facing a large stake that had been driven into the dirt. Another man stood to the side with a video camera, filming the men. As he watched two more men appeared dragging a tall thin figure toward the stake. It took Crane a moment to recognize his cloths that he had been wearing the previous day.

The two men bound their burden to the stake, and stepped back. The prisoner didn't seem to be conscious as he hung in the ropes, head dangling. The videographer seemed to be filming the man, though he did not move from his position behind the armed men. Crane studied the scene, trying to figure out what was going on. Then it came to him. The cloths, the build, the short black hair, the hidden face, it was supposed to be him; that was supposed to be Lee Crane tied to that stake! He started forward only to be grabbed by both arms again. A dirty rough hand came up to cover his mouth as he started to yell. He kicked and bit and struggled to get free, as his frantic eyes saw the armed men raise their rifles and aim at the slumped figure. The two men had him down on the ground now. A wad of filthy material had been stuffed into his mouth and his hands were bound behind him with rough rope.

He could only watch as the order was given and the man bound to the stake was flung like a rag doll as the bullets hit his chest. There was no doubt that the man had been shot, was horribly dead. And it had all been recorded on film; film he knew was going to be seen by his crew, his friends… by Nelson. They would think he had been killed. And the ring would be proof. As he watched one of the firing squad moved forward and lifted the left hand of the dead man. He had evidently palmed the ring for he held it up in triumph as he turned back to the camera, waving his trophy. Crane had no doubt that the video would zoom in on it. He felt sick.

Suddenly a voice spoke from behind him, a voice that didn't belong there, a voice that spoke in English. "The captain is dead. Long live the captain!" He rolled over to see who had spoken and froze in amazement.

Chapter 6-

Nelson sat in the nose of the Seaview, maps spread across the table. They had searched the area around the ruins the night before and had come up with nothing. They were now expanding out their search area with the help of the government troops. It was now almost 24 hours since Crane had been taken. Nelson had been unable to sleep, despite Jamieson's nagging, and he knew that Morton, out with a search team, had been the same. He had made sure that every team out had at least one crewman, armed with a walkie-talkie. He wanted to know as soon as possible if anything was found.

He looked toward the main hatch as activity caught his eye. Everyone else was gone but Sparks who was monitoring the walkie-talkie traffic and local TV and radio stations listening for any news. Morton was moving toward him, his slumped posture speaking more than words as to his lack of success. Morton slumped into a chair across from Nelson and looked at him with tired eyes that mirrored his own. Nelson sighed. There was not much more they could do. The contacts that he had managed to find after tips from ONI had no information, and didn't want to get involved where the government was so prevalent. Nelson hadn't really wanted to call in the government troops, but he needed numbers, and they were the only game in town. He had bribed, threatened, cajoled, and outright begged everyone that he could find to get help. And so far it was all for nothing.

The two men sat there, taking comfort in each other's presence, both missing the third man. They were tired and hungry and while still hopeful, they both knew that the longer it took, the less likely it was that Crane would be found alive. Nelson hadn't even been able to come up with a reason for the kidnapping yet. There had been no demand for ransom or political favors. Nelson had notified his banker to stand by for a large withdrawal from his accounts anyway, just so they would be ready. He didn't like the thought of paying off kidnappers, he knew that it was a bad precedent to set, but he would not stand by and let someone kill Crane for a principle.

Nelson was just getting ready to start studying the maps again when Sparks came rushing forward from the radio shack. He went instantly to the large view screen mounted on the bulkhead, and turned it on. "There's something on I think you'll have to see Sirs." Sparks was pale, and Nelson felt his heart sink. Both he and Morton stood and moved to stand side by side in front of the screen.

A picture coalesced on the screen; a thin pretty blond woman and a slim dark haired man sat on the set of a news show, speaking in Spanish. Nelson could follow along, but wasn't sure that Morton could. They were talking about something happening in the capitol. Nelson was about to question Sparks, when it happened. The dark haired man put one hand to his ear and listened for a moment. Then he turned to the camera with a serious look on his face, and started talking about the kidnapping of an American Naval officer. He stated that the station had just received a video from an unknown source. They were going to show the footage in its entirety, and children should not be allowed to watch. The screen went dark for a moment then they could see a line of men with weapons, facing a stake. The men all wore scarves or masks to hide their faces. As they watched, two other masked men dragged a tall, slim figure with dark hair, wearing blue jeans and a light blue shirt, to the stake. The figure was tied to the stake and hung there in the ropes, head down, barely moving, obviously held up by only the ropes binding him to the stake.

"No…." Nelson said under his breath. He reached over and put a hand on Morton's arm. Morton was simply standing there, eyes locked on the screen, hands fisted.

The watched as the two masked men moved out of the picture and the men on the firing squad raised their weapons. Nelson's hand closed harder on Morton's arm. The rifles were aimed, and fired! The body tied to the stake jerked like a puppet being shaken by its strings and then drooped into the ropes, unmoving. The front of light blue shirt was showed several bloody holes, and there was no doubt that its wearer was dead. Nelson watched in horror as one of the murderers strode to the body and removed something from the left hand. He waved it like some trophy in the air, and brought it toward the camera. The video zoomed in on the ring that lay in the dirty palm, and Nelson felt his heart break into a million pieces. There was not mistaking the type of ring it was, so familiar to them all, so often seen on the left hand of Lee Crane.

Sparks shut off the screen as the scene shifted back to the studio. "They uh.. go on to say that the rebel force left some sort of statement about this being a lesson for all foreign governments to stay out of Costa Nuestra, that this is just the first execution…" He broke off, unable to believe what he had seen.

Nelson and Morton stood there, unmoving. Nelson's hand was clamped on Morton's arm with a death grip but neither man noticed. They were staring at the blank screen, but neither was seeing it. Both were seeing the horrible sight of their friend, their brother, their son, being executed like some common criminal. Shot to death by rebels acting against a government he didn't support.

"God damn them to hell." Morton finally said softly, blinking rapidly to clear the tears from his eyes. He couldn't believe it. After all these years of escaping every villain that crossed their path, of surviving things no one else would have, he had just seen Lee Crane executed. Literally tied to a stake and murdered. He became slowly aware of the pressure on his arm, and looked over at Nelson. Alarmed by the lack of color in the older man's face he disengaged the grip with some difficulty and lead the unresisting man over to the table and into a chair. "Sparks, get Jamieson up here, now." He snapped. He pushed down his own almost overwhelming grief to focus on Nelson. The light blue eyes in the suddenly old face were glazed, and he didn't seem to be aware of Morton at all.

It seemed like just moments and Jamieson was there, gently pushing Morton aside and into a chair of his own. Sparks had no doubt filled in the doctor who took Nelson's pulse and put a hand on his forehead. He frowned at Nelson's lack of responsiveness, and looked at Morton. "He's in shock. He was already exhausted and in pain from the cracked rib, now this. I'll take him up to his cabin and give him a shot. It's best if he sleep for awhile." He motioned for Frank, who had followed him into the control room to come forward, and together they brought the unnaturally cooperative Nelson to his feet and Frank led him toward the spiral stairs. Morton watched as the two men disappeared, and wished that he could take something to make him sleep, but he feared the dreams that would come, dreams of his best friend, his brother, dying, his chest bloody from several bullet strikes. Sleep didn't seem so appealing suddenly. He raised tortured blue eyes to meet Jamieson's. He could see the sadness and anger in the doctor's hazel eyes, and knew that while Jamieson might seem to be taking it well, he was also mourning the death of his friend and commanding officer.

"I have to tell the crew." He said. Jamieson nodded. By now everyone on board would know that something horrible had happened. Better to give them the truth rather than let speculation run rampant, and there were the crew still out with the search teams who had to be recalled. It was the XO's job. And he would do it. He owed it to Lee to see that things were done right, that the crew was told by someone in command, someone who cared…. Morton folded his arms on the table and put his head down in them and let the tears come. He felt Jamieson's hand on his shoulder for a moment, and then it was gone. He heard the doctor's footsteps as he went up the spiral stairs. He was alone. He didn't raise his head for a long time.

Chapter 7-

Crane stared at the figure who had spoken in English. It was a woman, somewhere in her early forties. Not a native, she had blond hair perfectly coifed, as if she had just stepped out of some salon in New York. She was dressed in an expensive looking ensemble, and high heels. It was her eyes that Crane noticed however. They were locked on him, and they were…hungry. He felt a shudder go through him. He didn't know who she was, but he recognized the type. He kept his face expressionless as he stared back at her, not wanting to lose the battle of wills that seemed to have sprung up. He saw a calculation come into her cold blue eyes, and they narrowed. She didn't like his defiance. _Well tough luck_, he thought.

He was dragged upright, and he saw that the dead man had been cut down off the stake, and was just being left to lie on the ground. The other men were loading up into trucks like the one he was standing near. Obviously they were moving out. Once he was on his feet the woman moved to stand in front of him. She stood too close, her body just brushing his. She raised a hand and ran it down the side of his face. He jerked his head aside and glared at her.

She frowned and looked over her shoulder at Enrique Ortiz, who was smiling. "I don't believe the captain is going to be cooperative. He doesn't seem to understand that he has no options."

"We can be sure that he understands that, senorita. Of course he may not be so…pretty when we are done." The man said.

The woman pursed her lips, considering, then shook her head. "No…I want him looking pretty. There's other ways. Will your men be coming along?"

"Yes, they will go with you and help your men to control him until you get to your lab. We wouldn't want a dead man wondering around in the jungle now would we? It would look bad to the tourists."

She smiled again, and turned back to Crane who was watching her stonily. She reached up and took hold of his chin, when he tried to move his head out of her grip she sunk her nails into his flesh and hung on; she leaned in close to him. "You will understand that you will do what I want, or you will be very sorry." She whispered to him. She came closer, pressing herself against him. "Ohhh," she sighed, "I like a hard body, don't you?" she said suggestively. She saw the disgust flare in his eyes and laughed.

She moved back and nodded her head toward the truck. The two men dragged Crane to the back, and after a scuffle that resulted in him getting a fist in the stomach that left him trying to catch his breath through the gag, they threw him in the back like a sack of potatoes. They climbed in after him, and were joined by two other men. Escape was not a possibility right now it seemed. Crane closed his eyes and willed down the nausea that was rising. This whole situation had gone from really bad to much worse. He didn't know who the woman was, but the mention of a lab didn't bode well for his future. The truck started to move, bumping over potholes. He was thrown from side to side, unable to control his movements. When he rolled against the legs of his guards they kicked him back toward the center of the truck. It was not going to be a pleasant trip, and he doubted it would be any better when they reached their destination.

It was almost an hour later when the truck stopped. He was sore from the rough ride and the kicks of the guards. He imagined he was black and blue all over as they hadn't been delicate about it. At least one rib had cracked from blows to his side-he knew the feeling. His shoulders and arms were numb from being tied, and his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. The guards climbed out of the truck and roughly pulled Crane from the floorboards, dropping him in the dirt at the rear of the truck. He struggled around trying to get his balance so he could sit up and finally succeeded. He could see they were on the grounds of what had to be a business compound. Beyond the chain link fence he could see jungle still, so he suspected they had just moved south through the mountains to the southern part of the small country. There were a lot of pharmaceutical labs here working on new plants found in the jungles, looking for the next miracle drug.

A pair of expensively shod feet and shapely legs appeared before him. It was her again. He didn't look up, instead preferring to continue to get the lay of the land around the building so that if, when, he got away he would have a visual map of the area in his head. There was an un-amused laugh from the woman he was ignoring, and he found himself picked up and dragged into the building behind her. The guards were talking among themselves, using the local dialect, and Crane caught the words, 'La Tiburon', the female shark. The dragged him down a corridor lined with several labs each faced with a large glass window. He could see that here were no scientists working in any of them. It must have been shut down given the current attitude toward foreign companies. Between the government nationalizing those that wouldn't pay bribes, and the rebels burning those that cooperated with the government, it was a fine line to walk, and many had fled leaving their buildings and local employees to chance. That these had survived spoke of a lot of money being paid to someone.

He was dragged down the hall to a set of large doors. Through the doors was an opulent apartment outfitted in all the best furniture, rich fabrics and a thick rug. At the woman's gesture the men wrestled him onto the large bed that took up most of one corner of the room, tying his ankles and wrists to the posts of the bed using rope. He collected another batch of bruises trying to fight back, but eventually he ended up spread eagle on the silk coverlet. When they were sure he was secured the guards left the room, glancing at the woman who had gone over to the built-in bar and was now sipping a drink, watching the process with a smile on her face.

When the door closed behind the last of the guards, Crane took the opportunity to look around the room. There was a window on the opposite wall, but it had ornate metal bars across it. He suspected that any other window in the apartment would be the same. That left the door as the only means of escape. That would make it more difficult. He was shaken from his consideration of the room when the mattress dipped to one side as the woman came and sat down. She was holding her drink in her hand, and there was a predatory smile on her face. She reached out and pulled the loose cotton shirt up revealing his flat stomach and chest. He tried to twist away as her hand ran over the planes of his body, but they had not left him much room to maneuver when they tried him. While she persisted, he could see she was becoming frustrated by his lack of cooperation.

She stopped playing with his chest and reached up to take the gag from his mouth. He coughed as it came clear, enjoying the ability to breath deeply once again. His mouth was terribly dry, but he was not about to ask for anything from this woman. He had a feeling that anything she gave would come with strings attached the size of anchor chains. He met her eyes with no expression, simply waiting. She smiled at him, once again but he could see it wasn't quite as satisfied as before.

She pretended to pout. "You're not playing the game captain. You're supposed to be begging for your freedom, your life...your virtue. Not just laying there like a lump." She said. He continued to just stare. She stood and paced away from the bed taking another drink from the glass she held. She returned and sat down again. This time the wondering hand found its way to his groin, moving intimately against him. He couldn't stop the reflexive movement, but he tried his best to be sure that nothing showed in his face or eyes. It made her angry. She stopped fondling him and raked he nails across his exposed stomach, drawing blood. He couldn't stop the flinch from the pain, but he maintained his expressionless look.

"You WILL get into the game captain. I didn't go through all this just to have you sit it out. You have nothing to loose you know. As far as everyone is concerned you're dead. I could kill you now and there would be no repercussions for me." She leaned over him, her silky hair tickling his bare chest, and ran a hand along his chin.

"This can't be very comfortable for you." She whispered, continuing to stroke his face. "Play nice and I'll let you loose. We can…enjoy each other. This doesn't have to be unpleasant."

"It wasn't pleasant for the man they killed, or for my friends who think I'm dead." He grated out, his voice hoarse from lack of water.

She made a moue, obviously very aware of her posturing. "He was going to die anyway. This way he had a purpose, and he enjoyed his last night. I doubt he even knew what was happening. As to your…friends, that's the purpose of this whole exercise." Crane looked at her in puzzlement. She smiled, and climbed up onto the bed all the way. She put her glass down on the mattress next to Crane's head and then threw one leg over his narrow hips so that she sat astride him. Her short skirt hiked up around her hips, exposing lace underwear that barely covered what it was supposed to cover. He felt the ropes bit into his wrists and ankles as her weight pulled them inward. He bit back a groan and stared at her stonily.

"What do you mean the purpose of the exercise?" he growled.

She frowned at him again, obviously expecting him to have some reaction to her intimate position. She tossed back her hair and sighed. "You're obviously not going to be any fun until I tell you so…." She paused, drawing out the word, waiting for some reaction. When there was none she continued, "The whole point was to make Nelson think you were dead, to make him hurt. It seems he's rather fond of you, can't say I blame him there." Her hands began wondering again. "Eventually we'll let you go, after you've had a test dosage of our newest drug that wipes the last several days out of your memory. Pritchard Pharmaceuticals is quite proud of it. It has a lot of potential for helping people who have dealt with trauma. Not that you'll have to worry about that. In fact I think you'll be sorry to forget it" Her hands were wondering his torso now, and the look in her eyes left no doubt about what she had planned for him.

Crane felt like his head was going to explode with anger. Suddenly he understood. This was a plot by Pritchard to get back at the admiral for the humiliation that he claimed Nelson had brought on him. Crane's anger overwhelmed him. Ignoring the pain it caused, he bucked his body upward, twisting as he did so, throwing her off of him and onto the floor. She screamed as she flew through the air, and came up cursing like a back alley whore. The double doors slammed open and two of the guards were there, looking at the scene. She turned on them like a harpy.

"Get out!" she screeched. "I told you not to come in here unless I called for you. Don't ever come in here again until I tell you to." The two men slunk back out of the room, shutting the door quietly. She turned back to the bed, breathing hard. Her eyes burned with anger. She moved swiftly to the bedside table and picked up a shiny object that lay there then she stepped up to the side of the bed and held it in front of Crane. It was a syringe, filled with clear liquid.

"If you had cooperated I would have given you this and then in a day or two you would have been found by some farmer somewhere and returned to your silly submarine, but not now." She flung the syringe across the room where it shattered against the wall. A small bottle of clear liquid followed it. She looked at the stain on the wall and then turned back to Crane. He face that had seemed attractive was now hard and ugly. "I'm afraid now Nelson will never even find your body. That will make it all the worse. And remember, it was your choice." She lifted her hand to his face and then trailed it down to his chest. Once there she wickedly dug her nails into his skin and scratched across his exposed skin. He didn't give her the satisfaction of flinching or making a sound. She stalked away from the bed, going to the bar where she picked up a small purse. "I have things to do. I'll be back later tonight. It'll give you plenty of time to think about how I'm going to make what's left of your life a living hell." She spun on her heel and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

Left alone Crane shut his eyes, trying to convince his mind that his body really wasn't in all that much pain. He had done it before, and as he lay there, calming his breathing, and focusing on the sounds of his breath moving in and out, he slowly was able to get it under control. Once he did, he turned his thoughts to his situation. He had to struggle to keep his mind from turning back to the anger that had overcome him. That Pritchard would do this to Nelson, cause him this kind of pain, because of some stupid incident that was not in any way Nelson's fault made Crane incredibly mad. It had been the hand of another man, one who was now dead and beyond vengeance that had caused so much damage to the new boat, and had made such bad publicity for Pritchard. Crane suspected that the bad publicity was the real reason behind this. Pritchard was a man of great ego, and the media had not been kind in it's evaluation of the reason that Hargrove had taken such steps to kill Pritchard and destroy his boat, or in the coverage of what had happened on the submarine as they tried to survive the trap it had become. Nelson had come off as quite the hero despite not giving any interviews, and Crane knew that Pritchard must have hated every moment of it

He tried to focus on his situation. If she was gone until nighttime, he had a few hours to try to escape. The question was how was he going to do it? He pulled experimentally on the ropes binding him. There didn't seem to be any give, and the knots were tight. No help there. He twisted his head to the right, but there was nothing that seemed to be of help. He looked the other way, and his eye caught sight of something lying on the mattress a few inches from his hand. The glass! The glass that the woman had been drinking from, the glass she had set down by his head earlier. It had turned over and had rolled over to the headboard, and now lay on its side less than two inches from his hand. He contorted his left hand, and tried to push himself in that direction. He got a hand on the glass, and maneuvered it until he could lift it. Perfect.

He looked toward the doors. He doubted that the guards would dare to come back in after the scolding they had received from the woman. She must pay very well. Most men in Latin American countries were reluctant to work for a woman to begin with, but to work for one like that would be out of the question. It definitely wasn't 'Macho'. He pulled on the ropes until he was as far to the left as he could go. He was just able to reach the headboard with an inch to spare. This wasn't going to be pleasant, but it had to be done. Holding the glass in his palm, he drew his hand back as far as the rope would allow, and then smashed it, glass first into the headboard. He heard the glass shatter as he felt the splinters of broken glass drive into his hand. He bit back the groan of pain, and looked at the results. There were two large pieces and several smaller ones, most of which had embedded themselves in his palm.

He picked up one of the larger pieces off the bedspread and ignoring the pain, twisted his hand so that the sharp edge of the glass was against the rope. It took several minutes of sawing but finally the rope parted and his arm was free. He instantly started working on freeing his right hand. This time it went faster, and soon he was able to cut the ropes to his ankles. Before getting off the bed he stopped and pulled the glass shards that he could see out of his hand. He suspected that there were some smaller pieces still inside, but he couldn't take the time to try to get more out. He tore a strip off the sheets, smiling grimly at the thought that he was wrapping his hand in black satin. Not quite what the woman had in mind for the bed, he knew.

Crane was by no means a prude, and he had met and bedded many women in his life. He truly enjoyed the company of women, both in his bed and in his life in general. He had always respected them for their differences, and saw no reason that they should not be treated on their merits just like a man would be. But this woman, whoever she was to Pritchard, her he could hate. He was determined that when she returned he would be gone. The problem was how to get out of the room and past the guards. He looked around the room, there were several things he could use as a weapon, but they were armed with rifles and sub-machine guns. He moved over to the window, noticing for the first time that he was barefoot. The huaraches must have fallen off on the trip here, he didn't know when. Looking at the window he felt a sudden surge of excitement. The ornamental bars had been made to swing back once a lock was released. He looked around the room until he found a large paper clip and unbent it. He had the lock undone in a minute. It was just turning dusk outside, as the day came to an end. He hoped that he would have several more hours until the woman returned, but he couldn't take the chance that she wouldn't be back soon. He quickly moved through the room looking for anything that would be helpful. He wished for some shoes, but had no luck. He ended up with a knife, two books of matches, a jacket that was slightly too large, but was black and would cover up his shirt, and some insect repellant, always handy to have in the jungle. Even in the winter there were a lot of bugs here that you didn't want to have biting you. He stowed his treasures in the pockets of the jacket and climbed out the window.

He was in the back of the facility. He could see the chain link fence about 20 yards away. He studied the area, looking for guards or cameras. There was a camera mounted on the corner of the fence, but as he watched it didn't move from its position, and he suspected that the security system was not in use. He cautiously made his way to the fence, trying to stay low, and use the cover that the landscaping provided in case anyone was watching. He made it to the fence and looked carefully around. There was no evidence that the fence was electrified, but he cautiously brushed it with a small branch just to be sure. If it was electric, and being monitored, then someone could tell if it had been touched, but nothing happened. He climbed the fence, and using the jacket as a cover slipped over the concertina wire at the top. He disentangled the jacket and climbed down the other side. It was a few steps into the jungle, and he stood there on the edge for a moment, listening. He could hear no sounds in the growing night, though he knew that there were a lot of animals that were nocturnal, and would soon be moving around. He needed to be cautious. He would be larger than most, and they would give him a wide berth, but it was not unknown for the largest predator in these jungles to hunt at night, and he had no desire to meet with a hungry jaguar.

He cast one last glance at the quiet facility then looked up at the stars. While he had relied on computer positioning to tell him where he was for most of his career he, like most true sailors, had learned the value of being able to navigate by the stars. It was a skill that had served him well over the years in many situations. He knew he needed to get to the coast, but he didn't want to make it too easy on his pursuers and go there directly. He set a course to the north and west and putting the jacket back on, melted into the jungle, moving as quickly as he could toward home.

Chapter 8

Harriman Nelson woke with a start from another dream. He had seen Lee Crane, bound to a stake, being shot by five men in masks. He had seen the blood cover Crane's chest, had seen the golden eyes glazed in death, staring into his own as he tried ineffectively to stop the bleeding. He swung his legs over the side of his bunk and sat there, head in his hands, rocking himself back and forth. A quick glance at the clock showed it was just after 0500. He had been asleep off and on most of the night. He had awakened last night at around 2200 from what he suspected was one of Jamieson's potions, to find the doctor sitting in his chair. The grief he had seen in the doctor's kind eyes had told him immediately that it hadn't been a dream, some horrible nightmare. Lee Crane was dead, killed by rebels as an 'example'. Nelson had turned away from the doctor, facing the bulkhead of his cabin. Not speaking. He had heard Jamieson approach his bunk, and had felt a hand on his shoulder for a moment then he had heard the door close and he was alone.

Alone, he had never been so very alone. Even after Edith had died there had been Crane. He had busied himself with the Institute business and his research, in a futile attempt to get over the pain of losing his closest remaining blood relative, and had succeeded after a fashion. But to tell the truth as much as he had loved Edith, had treasured her love in return, they had not been as close as he would have liked. She was so much younger than he was, almost another generation, and they had been apart more than they had been together. He had been at sea. She had been at boarding school, finishing school and university. Then she had traveled, taking care of her charities and her work. They had met on holidays, birthdays and when their schedules allowed. They were family, but not as close as they could have been.

With Lee Crane it had been different. At first they had been mentor and student, then distant friends. After Crane had come to be the captain on the Seaview they had spent hours, sometimes days or even weeks in each others company, and the friendship had grown from there. Nelson almost couldn't bear the thought of being on the boat without Crane. He would be everywhere. But then he couldn't bear to not be here. It was here that Crane's memory would be most clear, and he wanted to remember every moment even though it might rip his heart out right now to think of it.

He stood and went into the head to start his morning ablutions. It was not going to be a pleasant day.

Chip Morton stood on the forward deck of the boat, staring out over the water of the small bay. He had gotten up earlier than usual; several hours before he was to be on duty, and had wondered out here to watch the sunrise before he went down to relieve O'Brien. What sleep he had gotten had been broken up by dreams, nightmares. Over and over again he saw Lee Crane shot. Sometimes his mind added a soundtrack that hadn't existed, the echoing shots, Lee crying out as the bullets tore his flesh, whimpering in pain, as he died alone and no doubt frightened. As he thought of it Morton's fist clenched. He welcomed the anger. He would use it, as an incentive, to find the people responsible for this and to make sure they paid. After that…..After that, he would grieve for his friend, his brother. This was the second captain that he had lost, that the Seaview had lost. Was there some sort of curse? Was the commander of the giant submarine destined to meet an unfortunate end? It wasn't as if Morton hadn't thought his captain was going to die several times over, but there was something about this…so sudden…so unexpected, totally out of the blue. No chance to wrap his mind around the idea that Crane would not survive, that they would have to go on without him.

He shook off the depressing thoughts and headed aft toward the main hatch. As he walked he put his hand into his pocket and touched the small bundle that was there. It had been delivered about 30 minutes ago, and he knew what he had to do with it. He nodded to the deck watch, who were still armed by his order, and went below. He was starting for the chart table where O'Brien was standing sipping a cup of coffee, when he caught sight of Patterson, obviously on his way to his duty station.

"Pat." He said, indicating that the rating should come closer. Once Patterson was standing before him Morton put his plan into action. "I know you were taking those video editing classes last year. Did you get into enhancing videos for detail?"

"Yes sir we spent a lot of time on it."

"Good. I want you to take a copy of the video of ….the captain's execution and see what you can find. I want any clues as to who those men where. Anything you can find. I'll let the chief know I have you on special duty, keep at it until you're sure there's nothing else to find. Sparks has gotten a copy from the TV station so you should have a good copy to work with."

Patterson nodded his understanding and headed toward the radio shack to get the video from Sparks; glad he could do something to help get the men who had killed the skipper. Last night in the crew's quarters had been a quiet and grim time. They had sat silently for a long time, and then had started sharing their best memories of the skipper. It had made them feel better, but it would be a long time before any of them forgot.

Morton started again for the chart table, and noticed that Nelson was coming down the spiral staircase. After a quick word with O'Brien he moved up to where Nelson had seated himself at the table. The older man was pale, and his face showed every one of his years. When Morton sat down the admiral swung his gaze from the windows. Agonized blues eyes met, and commiserated in silence. They weren't men to speak of their deepest feelings, but now in their shared grief they had found something they couldn't ignore.

"I'm sorry about yesterday." Nelson said, "I don't know what happened. I just…seeing Lee…"

Morton held up a hand and shook his head. "Don't." he said, meeting Nelson's eyes squarely. "I understand."

Nelson nodded. The two men sat for several minutes staring at the windows.

"I want to find his body Chip. I can't leave him here. And I want the men who did this." Nelson finally said.

Morton turned to look at him again. "I've got Patterson working on the video, looking for any clues. We'll find them Admiral, one way or the other, we'll find them."

"Not for revenge Chip. Make sure that everyone understands that. For justice, Lee wouldn't want us to take revenge. You know the value he set on life." Nelson emphasized.

Morton reluctantly nodded his agreement. He knew the admiral was right. Crane had been a proponent of justice. Revenge was not in his make up, and he had hated having to take lives even when the person might deserve it. Morton was not afraid to admit it was in his however. "I won't make promises I can't keep Admiral, but I won't actively try to hurt them. If they try to resist, I won't be sorry."

Nelson nodded. "I can't ask for more than that. I have to admit that WHEN we find them, I hope that they resist."

Morton rose to his feet. "I have to go relieve Bobby. I'll let you know as soon as we get anything from Patterson." He paused.

"All right. I have a meeting with Major Victor at 1100. We'll see what the government troops have come up with. I'm sure that they have moles in the rebel forces. Surely something like this would have merited a report." Nelson said.

Morton dug in his pocket and brought out the cloth wrapped bundle he had been carrying. "The TV station sent over a master copy of the video, and something else…."

Nelson looked at him in puzzlement and then reached out to take the small object Morton held out. He unwrapped it and Chip heard him choke back a sob as the golden ring fell out of the cloth. It was Crane's academy ring. Nelson's hand closed around it with bruising force, and he looked at Morton with a nod.

Morton, knowing the man wanted to be alone, went aft, closing the crash doors. He relieved O'Brien who headed aft to get some breakfast and some sleep. He, like everyone else on board, wanted to be prepared for when they found the animals that had killed the skipper. Some kind of strike force would be put together, and every man on board wanted to be on it.

Through out the day information came and went, but nothing that told them anything worthwhile. At the end of the day they were no closer to finding the body of Lee Crane, or the men who had killed him. Jamieson had bullied Nelson into eating some of a bowl of soup for dinner, and the admiral, moving slower than Morton had ever seen him, had retired to his cabin early. Morton toyed with his food, barely tasting Cookie's best lasagna. He had put off eating as long as he could, but Jamieson had started eyeing him as well, so he thought he should at least make the attempt. The boat herself seemed depressed. There had been reports of small glitches in the systems all day, little gremlins that came and went with no predictability. At one point the environmental controls had ceased to work, and the only place on the boat that had a normal temperature had been the captain's cabin. The crew had taken this as an omen that the boat was missing her captain, and had spoken in hushed whispers for most of the day.

Morton pushed away the unfinished portion of his meal, something that Crane would have kidded him about, and leaned forward on his elbows. He was finding it hard to believe that Crane would not be showing up soon, mission successful and a bandage on some body part, happy to be home. He had been reported dead before, had been in situations that no one should have been able to survive, and had still always returned. But this was final. There would be no more miraculous escapes.

Morton glanced at his watch. It was just after 2000 hours. He had no desire to go ashore, and the admiral, while not forbidding shore leave had suggested that no one go ashore alone or too far from where the boat was berthed. No one had any problem with staying aboard. Almost to a man the men were suspicious of the government troops that were supposedly watching over the docking facilities, and who were also supposed to be fighting the rebels. As far as they were concerned it was the government that had fostered the situation that made the rebels do what they had done. Not that they were willing to forgive the rebels either. So the crew was pretty much off the whole population of the country. If it hadn't been for the singular determination to retrieve their captain's body and seeing that his killers were brought to justice the crew would rather have gone.

He also had no desire to retreat to his cabin and brood. Brooding had always been Lee's cup of tea. Morton shook his head. Everything led back to that. Everything reminded him of his friend. It had been over 24 hours now since it had happened. While he could rationalize his grief, that made it no easier to deal with. He couldn't think his way out of this problem, as was his regular approach to things. He couldn't solve it, he couldn't fix it, and he almost couldn't live with it. He rose to his feet, taking the tray to the disposal area. He nodded at the other officers who were also there for a late dinner, and saw that no one seemed to have much of an appetite. That meant that Cookie would be in a bad mood. Nothing pissed him off more than people not appreciating his cooking, great. Morton went slowly back to his cabin. He had some reports to take care of, and if he didn't hurry they might just last him well in to the night. Maybe if he could get tired enough he could sleep without dreaming. But he doubted it.

Chapter 9-

Crane was running down a path through the thin jungle that must have been frequently traveled during the day. It was clear of overgrowth, and offered smooth footing that he appreciated in his shoeless state. Luckily there weren't a lot of rocks around to cut his feet up, though they had already taken quite a beating. He had been running for the last 15 minutes non-stop. He had started out slower, but he had only gone about 100 yards before he heard an engine in the distance. It was heading in the direction of the lab he had just left, and with his luck he had no doubt who it would be. That meant he might not have much time before his escape was discovered. He hoped that his choice of direction would throw off any pursuit for a while, and he wanted to put as much space between them as possible. He was torn between speed and caution however. A sprained or broken ankle at this point could mean the difference between life and death. He had to reach one of the rebel camps, and hope that he could make contact with one of the people he had dealt with before. He knew that the rebels moved around a lot out of necessity, but the ones he had known were highly placed in the loose organization, and should be known by anyone who was a dedicated rebel. The problem was finding them.

He came to a stop as he reached a small clearing. He figured he had covered almost five miles. Leaning forward with his hands on his knees he tried to catch his breath, difficult with a very sore set of ribs. He was not used to being this weak. Normally he could run a long way without any stops, but obviously his various injuries were combining to sap his strength. His head pounded with every beat of his heart, and his ribs screamed with every breath. The various bruises were no doubt turning an interesting variety of colors, and they were points of pain all over his body. He would be very happy to see Jamie about now with one of his pills or potions. He was worried about his friends. He knew that they thought he was dead, had been given every reason to believe it. He could see no way for them to suspect it had been faked. They wouldn't be looking for him. No cavalry would be coming over the hill in the nick of time. He would have to solve this one on his own.

He straightened and looked around. He looked up to the stars again, making sure that he was still on course. He still didn't know where he was, but he was starting to get an idea. There had been certain landmarks, dimly seen in the distance. Due to the pale moonlight, he couldn't make out details, but he was sure the large dark form in the east was a mountain that the locals called El Conquistador. Local rumors held that the ghosts of ancient Spanish conquistadors roamed its slopes searching for rumored gold caches that the Inca had supposedly hidden there. Most would not go near it at night, and some would not approach even during the day without various religious icons such as rosary beads, 'authentic' saint's bones, or a charm from the local bruja or witch. If it was that haunted mountain, then another thirty five miles north and west should see him to the spot that was used as a rebel base on occasion. Hopefully it would be in use now. The path should continue in that direction. It was the rebels, as well as local farmers, who kept these paths clear. He was just steeling himself to start running again when he heard it. A jeep by the sound of it, approaching from the direction he had come. He lunged toward the underbrush just before the lights could be seen cutting through the night. He lay full out on the ground under a low bush, grateful for the dark jacket. He dragged some old leaves and debris up over his legs, trying to cover the white cotton pants that would glow in the lights. He became still as the sound got closer trying to make himself one with the ground. He was careful not to look in the direction of the light, both to preserve his own night vision, and to make sure that his face, paler than most things in the jungle, wouldn't stand out.

He held his breath as the lights crept closer, and then past him by. The jeep was moving slowly, but they obviously hadn't spotted him. He stayed where he was for five minutes after he could no longer see the lights or hear the engine wanting to make sure that they had moved on. He then climbed out of his nest and started down the path again. He would have to keep a close watch and listen closely in case they came back. He suspected that once the reached the next village they would take another route back the way they had come, trying to cover all the possible routes he could be taking. He had no way of knowing how many people she had available to search, so he didn't know if they had just guessed well, or if the woman had so many men out that they were just covering everything. He would have to operate as if it were the worse case scenario. He had at least managed to rest while he waited, and his adrenaline spike would help him to keep going. He started running again.

It was several hours later before he had to stop for the night. The moon was setting, and his energy had gone with it. He was so very tired. He estimated that he had covered almost twenty miles all together. The paths had been a godsend, if he had to break trail he would still be back near the lab. He had been forced to hide two more times, the second time he had almost been too tired to notice the oncoming sound. If he hadn't seen the lights flashing through the foliage he would have been pretty much right there waiting for them. He had hidden until they passed, and had accepted that he had gone as far as he was going to go that night. He was lying in a small hollow in the ground between two large roots. There was a layer of leaves beneath him, and he had swept some over his legs. No one passing by should be able to see him as he was over 10 feet from the path and he doubted that he could get too far anyway if he tried to get up and find another place.

He stared up at the stars that he could see through the canopy of the tree's leaves, vaguely trying to work out what he would do when he had rested for a while, and the sun rose. He would have to be more cautious then. Anyone he saw could be one of his pursuers. He had to make it to a rebel camp, only there could he expect any true aid since they would be willing to help him once he told them that the government was involved and he did a little name-dropping. Unable to focus much beyond that he let himself drift toward sleep, just before he sank into the welcome blackness he had a thought of Seaview, of his crew, his friends, his family. They would be looking for his body, looking for justice. He could count on them not to take revenge, as much as they might want to. In his mind he was back among them, and as he allowed the sleep to come at last, he was happy.

The sun was just rising when he next became aware, that was good, what wasn't good was the pair of legs that were directly in his line of sight, along with two other sets right behind. He lifted his head and scanned up the legs to a torso and then the head. The man stood looking at him, a machine gun pointed vaguely in his direction. The man was a native, unshaven and wearing a mixture of native clothing and military fatigues. All of the guards had been outfitted in fatigues, and were as spit and polished as one could expect from soldiers in a junta regime. This man smelled like he hadn't bathed in several days at least.

"Why do you sleep here?" the man growled in the local dialect, and Crane realized that in his native clothes, with his dark coloring and beard, the man had mistaken him for a native. He saw no reason to point out that it wasn't so. When he had been here before he had perfected his accent.

"I was being chased by government men. They killed one man and they want to kill me. I ran as long as I could, but I got tired." Better to stay as close to the truth as possible. The rest of the story wasn't pertinent to the current situation.

The men, as he sat up he could see that there were 10 or 12 of them, retreated to talk among themselves. He noticed that while they were determining his fate at least one man had a gun pointed at him. Obviously this was a rebel cell on the move, possibly coming home from some strike against the government. The question was going to be if they believed what he said. He took the time while he waited to examine his feet in the burgeoning light. They didn't look bad for the beating they had taken. There were several cuts and the bottoms felt bruised. He wasn't used to going barefoot except on the beach. The rest of his body didn't really feel much better. He was stiff from sleeping on the ground, and his bruises felt like they had bruises. At least his head felt better. He looked up from his consideration of his aches and pains to find the man who had spoken to him crouched before him, looking at his feet.

"You will come with us. We will take you to camp and you can tell your story to our leader. If you are telling the truth you can stay with us and will be safe. If you are lying…."He made a gesture with his thumb across his throat.

Crane met his eyes and nodded. "I understand." He said. He rose stiffly to his feet, leaning against the tree for a moment as the bruises suddenly kicked it up a notch. As he was getting it under control he felt the back of his shirt pulled up, and he opened his eyes to see the man he had spoken to looking at the bruises across his kidney area. The man's dark eyes met his.

"The boots, they like to use the boots. It makes them feel like they are big men, and that we are dogs." He spit out. He held out a hand. "I am Valenzio. I am the leader of these men. Come, we are not far from the camp.

Crane shook hands and pushed off from the tree. The first few steps were unpleasant, but after a bit it waned to a dull ache. One of the first orders of business would be to get them cleaned and see about some boots or huaraches. Then he would see about making contact with his friends in the rebel forces, and getting back home.

The marched for most of the day, and he knew that the men were making allowance for his slower pace. 'Not far' was obviously a relative term to these men. He had told them to go ahead and that he would follow, but they had refused. Finally, as the sun was setting, they came to a small village nestled in a valley. Cliffs rose on either side of the village, protecting it from approach from any way but the East or West. It was made up of adobe and thatch huts set in a circle around a central area. There were fires burning there with large pots hung over them. As the smell of the stew came to him, Crane realized that he hadn't eaten in quite along time now. His stomach growled loudly, and the men he was with laughed. He explained that the government troops hadn't been generous with the rations, and they nodded. He was led to a seat near one of the fires. The heat was pleasant as even in the tropics the evenings were a little cool, or at least his battered body felt cold. One of the women who had been tending the fires brought him a bowl of food, and he ate with relish.

He noted that his escort had faded into various directions as he ate, and that the leader of the small cell was speaking to a large man near one of the huts. Since he was gesturing in Crane's direction it wasn't hard to figure out what they were talking about. He was finishing his second bowl of stew when the two men approached. The large man looked familiar, but Crane couldn't put a name to him. He suspected they had passed in the rebel camps. That problem was solved soon as Valenzio made introductions.

"Senor Torres, this is the man who was running from the government troops. I have seen his feet and the bruises of the boots. He was sleeping in the jungle off the path. I believe it is as he says. My friend" he said to Crane, "this is Senor Torres. He is the leader here. He will decide if you can stay."

Crane stood up and offered his hand. Torres was older than Crane by at least ten years. There was gray sprinkled in the black of his hair. His dark eyes were sharp, and intelligent. They studied Crane thoughtfully. "Your name?" he asked.

Crane had decided to go by the name he had used when he was there previously. If he could get into contact with the men he had known, it was by that name that they would recognize him. "Marinaro, Rico Marinaro." He introduced himself. There was a flash of something in the dark eyes of the other man.

"Have we met?" Torres asked.

Crane shook his head. "I don't think so, though you do look familiar." No need lying about it.

"Yes….I too feel that. I will think on it." He looked Crane up and down. "You need medical help. Our doctor is not _really_ a doctor but she can help with almost anything. She has removed more bullets than any doctor in any case. Valenzio will take you to her." With that Torres turned and left. Crane assumed that meant he was here on sufferance until proved otherwise. Valenzio led him to one of the huts on the far side of the common area, and called out when they reached the door.

"Abuela. There is someone for you to see. Are you there?"

"Where else would I be?" Came a cranky reply from inside the hut. Moments later one of the smallest and most forceful looking older women that Crane had ever seen came to the door. _Well_, he thought, _that explains the name_, Abuela meant grandmother. Her hair, the purest white, was coiled atop her head in a thick braid, suggesting that it must be very long. Her small head was set squarely atop the small arrow straight frame, and every inch spoke of a forceful will not dimmed by age or size. She peered up at the two men out of obsidian eyes that seemed to cut through to the soul. She sniffed at Valenzio, wrinkling her nose. "What, they have no water anywhere but here? You think that the army cannot smell you? Go. Bathe. Come back when you are done, and perhaps I too will be done then."

Valenzio flashed a sheepish grin at Crane and disappeared quickly in a direction that Crane suspected led to a stream or wash area. The little woman did not seem like someone you ignored. He held out his hand. "I am called Rico Marinaro." He introduced himself.

She looked him over again her gaze lingering on his bare feet then raised her eyes back to his. "You are called…" she repeated, it wasn't a question, it was an observation, and Crane could see that she knew that he had noticed the difference. This old woman was sharp. She smiled a small mysterious smile and placed her small hand in his. "I am Abuela. That is what_ I_ am called. Come into the house." She led the way inside, where she indicated he should sit in the lone chair. He sat and looked around. The walls of this first room were lined with shelves holding bottles of dried plants, herbs he supposed. Along side the herbs were bottles of regular medicine and syringes. A curtained doorway showed that there was a second room, probably a bedroom of sorts. He noticed piles of clean cloths and rolls of bandages stacked on yet another shelf. Evidently the woman used whatever came to hand. She came to stand next to him, and he noted with amusement that that even sitting down he was almost as tall as she was. She leaned down a little and looked deeply into his eyes. He did not look away. After several moments she snorted and went to get a ceramic bowl. She poured in some hot water from a pot that was on the small stove and mixed in some herbs. In a few moments the smell of the herbs filled the cabin.

She brought the pan and several cloths over and knelt at his feet. He instantly protested, trying to help her back up. "I can take care of my feet there is no need for you…." He stopped as he met her eyes. Jamieson should take some lessons. She didn't even have to threaten. He simply sat back and watched as she lifted his right foot and, using the water, began to clean it. She tutted to herself several times as he flinched at a particularly deep cut. As she cleaned off the grime he could see that the sole was indeed bruised. She finished with the one foot and wrapped it in clean cotton cloths. She then got some new water and cleaned and bandaged the other foot. Once she had completed that she disposed of the water and came to stand back at his side.

"Remove your shirt." She said, and Crane felt a blush start to move up his cheeks. He hoped that the beard and his dark coloring would hide it, but the sharp eyes saw everything. She smiled. "I have seen the chest of many men, Rico Marinaro." She said the name with a smile, and he knew she was not in any way fooled by the name. "You are no different." He pulled off the shirt, wincing at the pull on the cracked ribs as he did so. She saw that too. She instantly began running her fingers over the worst of the bruises. She easily found the cracked ribs and tutted to herself again. She moved around to his back and gently touched the bruises over his kidney. "Do you have blood when you urinate?" she asked. He shook his head, blushing again. She nodded and continued to look at the rest of the bruises. "I can wrap the ribs but it will not help with the pain. It is up to you."

"I'll do without. Thanks." He'd rather be able to move freely.

She nodded and reached out and took his hand. She studied the torn skin on both sides of the wrist and then unwrapped the ragged piece of satin. She studied the cuts, tenderly probing the area, and raised her eyes to his. "These will become infected. How long ago did they happen?"

"Yesterday afternoon. I haven't had a chance to clean them."

She mixed another batch of the water and herbs and washed the wounds on his hands, wrists and ankles. With a pair of tweezers she located and extracted several small pieces of glass from his hand. She wrapped bandages around the various spots. She stood again, and placed a hand on his forehead. It seemed very cool to him, pleasant. She frowned slightly. "I think the infection is already building. I have some penicillin…" she stopped as he shook his head.

"I'm allergic to it." He said

"Umm," she considered. "I will give you some tea, and you will rest there on the bed." she waved at a bed against the wall of the hut. As he started to protest she raised a hand. "If the infection grows I will not be able to control it. You will do what I say." She said leaving no room for argument. Crane, seeing that argument would be futile, allowed himself to feel amusement that this little woman could bully him better than Jaime. Definitely didn't want them getting together. He got up and moved to the bed, stretching out. It felt so good! He let out a deep sigh, and closed his eyes, meaning just to rest them for a moment. He didn't realize he had fallen asleep until the old woman woke him to have him drink some bitter tea. He grimaced at the first taste, but under her stern eye finished the full cup. He lay back and was asleep again almost immediately.

Chapter 10-

Lucinda Pritchard stalked down the hallway at full speed, ignoring the men trailing behind her. She was tired of listening to their excuses. They were useless. She needed to get in touch with Ortiz. Some of his men would get answers from the local villages where Crane might be hiding. The captain had escaped from the facility almost a full day earlier, and she had men out looking in every direction. So far no one had even caught sight of the man; it was as if he had dropped off the face of the earth. She didn't doubt that he was trying to get back to his friends. She was going to make sure that he didn't make it.

Her father had wanted the man to be returned after several days, with no memory of what had happened. The old fool, evidently his age was making him weak. She would show him how to take revenge on someone, permanent and agonizing. There would be no body for Nelson to bury, no closure for the wounds inflicted. That was how SHE dealt with enemies, and since it was all going to be hers some day, she didn't need a goody-two-shoes like Crane taking up where Nelson left off. The old guard was moving on, it was time for the new blood, and she was determined that she would be at the alpha wolf of the pack.

She pushed her way into the executive suite where Crane had been tied up. One of the cleaners had been in and straightened up, so there was no sign of Crane, but what she did see brought her up short. In the large leather chair that was set in the center of the room sat her father. He was smoking a cigar and had a glass of dark liquid, almost gone, in his hand, a newspaper rested in his lap. Bennington, one of Pritchard's aides was behind the bar, mixing another drink. She came to an abrupt stop, staring. Pritchard finished reading whatever it was that had his attention, and looked up at her with dark, angry eyes.

"When were you planning on telling me how you messed this up?" he growled, coming to his feet and towering over her. How she hated when he did that, when any man tried to intimidate her with their height. What she really hated was that only her father succeeded. She straightened and looked at him coolly despite the quiver she felt in her stomach. She had no doubt he had been filled in by one or all of the guards. She would speak to Ortiz about them.

"I was handling it. I have men out looking now…"

"The situation should never have arisen! He was supposed to be kidnapped, thought to be dead and then miraculously restored after I made sure that Nelson was aware that it was HIS fault that Crane was targeted, and give him time to suffer. You hire a few men to tie him up or drug him and lock him in some room somewhere for a few days, a week at the most. Then he gets the memory deletion shot and that's it. No danger of discovery, no rumors among the locals, no witnesses to back up his story. But you couldn't do that could you? You had to have him hauled down here and tied to the bed for god sake! What the hell were you thinking?" He stomped around the room, and waved at the bed. "Do you realize that to these people kinky sex is when the woman opens her eyes somewhere in the process? You come sashaying in here, dressed like some tart on the waterfront and have a man tied to the bed and proceed to feel him up." He smiled when she saw the surprise in her eyes.

"Oh yes, they were watching. Found it very interesting. You'll probably start some kind of trend in the area." He went back to the chair and sat down. "Lord knows where you get this sex thing from. It wasn't your mother that's for sure and I know it wasn't from me, must have been that damn Swiss finishing school."

She was breathing heavily, outraged that the guards had revealed so much. She would have to make sure that Ortiz let her spend some time with them before he had them killed. "It was my idea. The results would have been the same."

"Oh really? How was that since you destroyed the drugs? Not like you can go down to the pharmacy and get a new batch."

"I..."

"You were going to have the guards kill him weren't you? Or have that gorilla, Ortiz, do it for you. Do you realize what a hold that would have given him on us?"

"He owes me. He wouldn't..." she began

"He doesn't owe you squat. According to my sources he knows where every body that the junta has ever murdered is buried. He has Velasquez and his so called cabinet by the short hairs and can yank them any way he wants. HE'S the power behind the throne. He needs you like a fish needs a bicycle. He's using you to get the money the junta needs to keep fighting the rebels. They've been a bit more effective, and elusive, than they were supposed to be. How much did you pay him for the little firing squad by the way?"

She mentioned a figure, then went to the bar and snatched the drink out of Bennington's hand, and threw it back in one shot. Her mind was reeling. Ortiz was using her? For money? She would crush him like a bug! She turned back to her father, eyes blazing. "My men will find him. We'll go back to the original plan. I can have some of the drug sent in from Mexico City."

"Just how many doses do you figure you can get?" Pritchard asked. When she frowned in puzzlement he sneered, and motioned to Bennington for a refill. "It's not just Crane now. It's the guards and the cleaning staff and who ever they've told, along with whoever Crane has run into since he escaped. What are you going to do, drug the entire area?"

She stood, empty glass in one hand, and stared at him for a moment then she spun and threw her glass across the room where it shattered on the expensive wallpaper. She stood there breathing as if she had run a marathon, scenario after scenario running through her head, looking for a solution. None came to mind.

Pritchard watched her then took a drink of the new drink Bennington put in his hand, a very good scotch. "Then of course there's Nelson." His daughter swung back around.

"What about him. As far as he's concerned his captain is dead. That part of the plan worked."

"Don't underestimate Nelson because he pours his money into that stupid Institute. He's smart, and he has a lot of connections. I understand from some of my sources that he's paid some very large bribes to some very important people to get some information on the location of Crane's body and who killed him. Bribes that are very attractive to men like those that run this country. Someone is going to talk, sooner or later. It's time to cut our losses."

"You mean just quit? Just drop it and leave?" she said, disbelieving. Just how weak was her father getting?

"No. I said cut our losses. There's a difference. The ends are the same, but we are no longer involved. The right word to Ortiz and he'll be looking for Crane too. He has massive resources. All you have to do is suggest that some of his 'friends' in high places are likely to talk, and that if Crane is found those same friends will have the proof they need to have Ortiz 'terminated' from his position as commander of the army, permanently.

She pondered his words, and slowly a smile started on her lips. It wasn't what she had planned, but she had obviously not considered all the angles. It wasn't a mistake she would make again. This way she was out of the country and far away when Crane was killed. A few more words to Ortiz and the guards would not be a problem. As to Ortiz himself, well there were some things besides money that he liked. "Very nice daddy; it seems the old dog still has a few tricks left in him." She said

"Don't you forget it either. They're fueling the jet now. Why don't you make a few phone calls while we wait?" Pritchard said, and went back to reading his newspaper, taking another sip of the fine scotch. He'd have to get some of that for his office.

Chapter 11-

It had now been three days since the execution of Lee Crane, and as far as Chip Morton could see no progress was being made at all. No reports of who was responsible, no government spies with clues, no…body. Nelson had been paying out bribes to assorted government officials who assured them that every effort was being made to catch the rebels responsible. It hadn't helped. Nelson was beginning to concern him. He was hollow-eyed and grim, and seemed to have visibly lost weight. Even though he had gone to his cabin early again the previous night, followed by Jamieson with his sleeping potions, he didn't look any more rested then Morton felt. There was no light in Nelson's eyes, just a blankness that spoke of infinite pain and a will of iron holding it all together.

Morton had spent most of the previous night thinking about what they were doing and weighing the consequences. Nothing they did would bring Lee back, and Morton knew that Crane's first concern would be the admiral and the crew. He would not want to see Nelson eating himself up with grief, or spending his fortune to get information. As much as Morton wanted to find Lee's body, wanted justice for the terrible act, he respected his friend's memory too much to let this go on and on. He just wasn't sure how to go about talking to the admiral about it. Nelson's already fiery temper had become just short of atomic, ready to be let loose at any moment. The only person that had ever been able to withstand the blast with equanimity and equal fire wasn't here, and would never be again.

Morton pounded his fist on the table. He sat in the nose, ostensibly doing paperwork, but really just sitting and staring out the window. He decided that he needed to consult with Jamieson. Maybe there something they could do together. He was getting ready to go down to sickbay, when he heard Sharkey behind him in the Control Room.

"Patterson! Slow it down. What do you think you're doing?"

Morton turned to see Patterson plowing through control room at just short of a dead run. He was a sight. The normally neat man was a wreck. His face was stubbled, his hair disheveled, and his eyes bloodshot. Morton couldn't remember seeing him for the last three days since he had given him the assignment to look at the videotape for any clues. Since he had heard nothing Morton had assumed that there was nothing to see that helped. As Patterson drew up before him he felt a surge of adrenaline at he look in the blood shot eyes. He couldn't figure out what it was at first, but then he realized that it was a quiet joy that lurked in Patterson's eyes.

"Pat, what's going on?" He asked. Out of the corner of his eye caught sight of Nelson working his way down the stairs. The older man came to a stop and took in the scene before him curiously.

"It's the tape Mr. Morton. You and the admiral have got to see this." The rating said, waving a tape.

'I don't think..." Morton started with a quick look at Nelson. He didn't want to see it again himself and he really didn't want to subject the admiral to it.

But Patterson was shaking his head. "Not that part sir. I couldn't watch it more than once myself. This is before...you gotta see this!" He went over to the video equipment and put the tape in the machine. Nelson moved up to stand next Morton. Chip noted absently that Nelson was wearing an academy ring on his right hand, Lee's ring. The video started, and Morton realized it was before the shooting, and they were watching Crane being dragged to the stake, but the video had been focused to only a small portion of the larger picture. Patterson was standing to the side of the screen, watching intently. "Here it comes, watch." He focused on part of the screen. "There!" he cried out, pointing. "Did you see it? Did you see it?" He stopped the tape, leaving a picture of the limp form being dragged to his death by the two men.

Nelson and Morton, had both been focusing hard, but they exchanged puzzled looks. Neither was sure what they were supposed to have seen, but they could feel the excitement rising. "What are we supposed to be seeing Pat?" The admiral asked

"The tattoo. The tattoo on the skippers left hand." Patterson said as if it was obvious.

"Lee didn't have a tattoo." The admiral said.

"Exactly sir! This guy," Patterson gestured at the screen, "whoever he is, did though."

It took a second for it to sink in for both of the officers then it struck them both like lightening. If the man who had died had a tattoo, then the man who had died wasn't…..! They both stepped forward to see what Patterson was saying. Patterson pointed to the limp left hand that was clearly visible in the still shot. On the back was an intricate and highly colorful tattoo. There wasn't enough resolution to make out what was depicted, but there was no mistaking it. The man wearing Lee Crane's cloths, that had evidently been wearing Lee Crane's ring, wasn't Lee Crane!

Nelson staggered a little and grabbed Morton's arm to steady himself, his eyes never leaving the screen. "You're…" his voice broke, and he stopped. "You're sure that there's no mistake? That it is really there?" He questioned Patterson. As if he had to verify that there could be no error, couldn't let his hope overcome his logic.

"Yes sir, once I found it, I checked it over and over. There's no signs of any tampering, I even went and had the tech at the TV station take a look at the original. They got all kinds of high tech equipment and I had him blow up the still." He handed a picture to Nelson. Morton looked at it over Nelson's shoulder, and now you could see that the tattoo was of a grinning parrot, with colorful plumage. Morton felt the small seed of hope inside blossom.

"Oh my god, he's alive." Morton gasped.

"Not necessarily." Nelson said, but despite his words Morton could see the spark of life had returned to the blue eyes. "Whoever set this up, they went to a lot of trouble to make it look like Lee died. To make US think Lee died. Why?"

"They wanted something from Lee and didn't want us looking for him?" Morton suggested.

Nelson shook his head, still staring at the picture. "No, think about what's happened over the last several days. We've turned over every rock we could find, paid bribes, asked questions. If anything this little charade made us look harder…." He stopped, his mind latching onto a thought. He started to pace, and Morton noted that there was a spring in his step, a purpose. "It made us look harder at the rebels, who WE thought had killed Lee. What if the whole thing was a set up?"

"What do you mean?" Morton said, not following this train of thought.

"What if the whole scenario was to get our attention focused on the rebels, while the people that really have Lee do whatever it is they wanted to do, unbothered by us searching for a missing captain?" Nelson asked. He nodded to himself. Yes that had to be it.

"But if it wasn't the rebels then who…." He stopped as he suddenly started to see where Nelson was going. "The government, Velasquez's men?"

Nelson smiled a grim smile and nodded. "It has to be. It's the only thing that makes any sense!"

"Well that's great. So now we have to figure out how to get Lee back from the government that runs the country, a government that has no problem killing their own people on the flimsiest excuses. That is if he's still alive." Morton concluded going from joy to despair in moments.

Nelson, still pacing, shook his head. "If Lee was dead they would have simply given us his body and told us to get out. Any damage could be ascribed to the rebel's treatment of him, and I'm sure they would have had no problem making it appear he was shot to death. I think he's still alive." The fire was growing in his eyes. "Sharkey," he snapped to the chief who was hovering to the side, taking it all in, "Tell Sparks to get me a line to Mike Hampton at the consulate."

"What are you going to do?" Morton asked.

"As with most revolutionary governments there quite a lot of competition among the top officers. Everyone is maneuvering for position. I know of two men in Velasquez's cabinet that have the power to do something like this and pull it off. Ortiz, the one they call the Butcher, and Hermosa, the finance minister. Both are very powerful, and are ready and waiting for Velasquez to make one mistake before they take over. Hermosa is ruthless, but he's not the killer that Ortiz is. He's a thinking man. While this is an intricate plan, the fact that an innocent man was killed to give it authenticity makes me think Ortiz is more likely the one behind it or at least is involved in it up to his eyebrows. Also he has access to the men and weapons that we saw." He considered for a moment, and Morton was glad to see that genius coming back. "Yes, I think Hermosa may be the one to approach. If I can suggest to him that it would be to his advantage to help us out, then perhaps we can get some information."

"Why would he help us now when he wouldn't before?" Morton asked.

"Now there's something in it for him. Velasquez is trying to curry favor with the international community. Ortiz is an animal that Velasquez can't control, and it would only take a certain amount of persuasion for him to abandon the man to whatever consequences his actions warrant. I'm sure he's not too comfortable with Ortiz breathing down his neck anyway. Hermosa will be happy to get the most likely contender out of the way, and I think he'll help."

"Why not go right to Velasquez?"

"He can't get involved. Ortiz's butchering of the populace is the biggest stumbling block in him getting international recognition of his government but don't forget, everything Ortiz has done has been at Velasquez's approval and Ortiz has placed himself firmly in control of most of the army. If Velasquez actively moves against him he'll be setting himself up to be overthrown, plus his other ministers may see it as a sign that their days are numbered and turn on him in a preemptive strike. Up till now everyone has been just sitting back waiting to see if the rebels will be able to get enough popular support to toss out the junta. From what I have seen it might not be too far off. Hampton can get word to Hermosa and he has connections that can get me an audience with one of the rebel leaders once they know that we're are NOT working with the government."

"Since we have a consulate here, doesn't that mean that our government has recognized theirs? How are they going feel about what we're about to do?"

"Actually I don't care. I'll deal with the fall out later. After….." he stopped and took a deep breath. "After we get Lee back." He finished.

Morton met the admiral's blue eyes with his own, and saw the same determination there as he knew was in his own. He nodded.

Chapter 12-

Crane swam up through the blackness. His first sensation was of a cool cloth being run over his face and chest. Curious as to who could be tending to him, he forced his eyelids to open. He found himself looking up at a thatched roof. For a moment he had no idea why he was in a hut then it all came back. He felt better then he had, but his body felt strange, heavy, and while he had just awoken, he felt tired. A small cool hand was placed on his forehead, and he turned his head to look into the black eyes of the woman he recognized as Abuela. She smiled at him, and removed her hand.

"So you finally are back with us. I was beginning to think that you would sleep forever." She said.

He frowned. He could see by the direction of the light coming through the window that it was morning, and that meant he had only been asleep 12 hours or so. A lot, yes considering that he usually got by on half that, but not unusual given his escape.

"It has been almost two days since you laid down here, hijo." She said, reaching up to push his hair off his forehead. "You have been ill. The wounds on your hand and on your wrists were infected, and you were exhausted. Your body did the only thing it could. But the fever is gone now, and your eyes are clear. I think you are getting better. I have some broth for you on the stove." He watched as she moved over to the small stove, trying to get his mind wrapped around the idea that he had slept for two days!

He sat up slowly, his body was sore, but not with the sharp pains from before. Looking down at his bare chest he could see the bruises had progressed from black to blue and green, lovely. He also noticed that he wasn't wearing anything under the rough blanket. He clutched it to his chest, and felt the blush rising in his face. The old woman, of course, chose that moment to turn around. She took one look at his posture and the blush, and smiled.

"No need to be embarrassed. I am an old woman now, but I have not always been so. You offered no surprises." She carried a bowl of broth to him, and sat down on the stool at the side of his bed. He sipped it, finding the broth tasty and that his appetite had evidently woken up too. It didn't take him long to finish the bowl. She took it from him, nodding in approval. "Do you want more right now?" When he shook his head she put the bowl down and went back to the stool.

Her clever eyes studied him again. He studied her back, not quite sure what to make of this woman. She finally smiled and spoke to him in English, her grin widening as his eyes gave away his surprise. "Do you want to tell me who you are, or should I continue to speculate?" her English was very good, only slightly accented.

He wasn't sure how to respond. He finally decided on the truth, or at least a portion of it. "My name is Lee Crane. I'm here with the private submarine, Seaview, docked in Barranca. I was kidnapped….four days ago now I guess. Ortiz was there."

Her face clouded at the mention of the name. She made a spitting motion. "We do not mention his name. He is the most hated man in these mountains. There is no one here who has not lost someone to his butchery." She said, slipping back into her own language.

"He provided the manpower to kidnap me, and then I was taken to a private facility to the south. I think it was a pharmaceuticals lab. I uh…managed to escape and was trying to reach one of the rebel bases here in the mountains." She didn't need to know about the woman. There was no way that he could tell her about that.

"And how did you know about the bases here? I did not realize Americans were so well versed in our politics." She said, again in English.

He gave her a small smile. "It's common talk on the street in Barranca."

"But not where they are located, and why would you head here instead of the coast where your submarine is? You had no guarantee that we would help you."

She was very sharp, this old woman. He had a feeling that she wasn't just a doctor; in fact he doubted she was JUST anything. She must have been something when she was younger. He debated on how much he should reveal. Once again he went with a partial truth. "I have some….acquaintances that I met when I was here last year. I know they were involved with the rebels then. I hoped that I could get word to them, and they would help me get back to my sub, or at least get word to my friends that I was alive and help me get out of the country."

She considered his words then nodded. He had no doubt she was hearing the half-truths, but she made no comment. Instead she asked, "Who are these…acquaintances?" He noticed she paused as he had, and smiled at her. This was almost fun, fencing with the woman. He was beginning to get a sneaking suspicion that he was looking at a woman who had spent a good portion of her long life doing work that in the U.S. would have had her working for the CIA, NSA, or even his own ONI.

He gave her two names, and he saw the speculation flare in her eyes. "These are powerful men, hijo. You make good acquaintances. I know where one of them is. I will send someone to bring him here. If you are lying it will not be good for you." She warned.

Crane shot her another grin. "It's good that I'm not lying then. He'll know me." He became serious. "I want to thank you, for taking care of me."

"It is what I do. It helps the cause, so it is a good thing. It makes me useful. One gets used to being useful." She looked at him keenly. "You would understand that I think." She felt his forehead again, and seemed satisfied. She rose to her feet. "I will get your cloths, I had them washed. I do not think you will wish to lie there for very long. You will dress and we will go sit in the sun, and you will tell me about your submarine and the places you have seen.

Crane nodded. He really wanted to contact Nelson and the Seaview, but he knew it would not be up to him, and he suspected that talking with this woman would be very interesting.

Chapter 13-

Enrique Ortiz watched as another truckload of men left the compound. He was sending out units to locate the escaped naval officer. _How hard could it be for experienced fighting troops to find a sailor? _He thought, but then he remembered that the man had been missing for two days now, and still no information had come about his whereabouts. He suspected that the man had found a rebel camp, or had been found by rebels and taken to a camp. He had stepped up his eradication program, but so far the American had not been among any of the prisoners or the dead.

"Guerrero!" he yelled for his second in command. The man ran up, ready to serve. "Get a hold of your informants and find out if any of the men from Seaview have been in contact with anyone from the rebel forces. I do not doubt that our elusive friend is trying to get to the submarine, and he may send someone to bring a note or some other proof he is alive. I want extra guards around the area. No one gets in that we do not know about. Have Nelson and anyone else leaving the sub followed at all times. They do not have to hide. If anyone asks they need only say they are there for security. Anything going onto the sub is to be searched, if you are questioned say that we are afraid of bombs." Guerrero nodded and went to order the additional guards.

Ortiz went inside the cinder block building that housed his office and a private suite. As he passed the door of the suite he thought about the woman with the blond hair from the American pharmaceutical company. She had been a ferocious lover, eager and innovative. He had not been so satiated for a long time. While he had enjoyed the experience he was glad that she had gone, along with the tall American man who had appeared the previous night. Even the brazen woman had been cowed in his presence. Ortiz had gathered that the man was her father, and the head of the powerful corporation. Looking into the man's cold eyes he had no problem seeing the man for the ruthless businessman he was rumored to be. Ruthlessness was a trait Ortiz admired; knowing it was one he possessed himself in excess. He felt nothing for the people he had caused to be killed. They were there to be expended. So had it been since the conquistadors first set foot on this continent, so it would be for the foreseeable future.

He moved into his office and sat down behind his large desk. Pulling open the top left drawer he took out the bundle of cash that had been given to him by Lucinda Pritchard. She had offered it for his cooperation in finding the American, along with certain ..other favors. It was not the largest bribe that he had received from an American business that had been concerned for their property, but it was close. It got him that much closer to taking the step for which he had prepared for the last year. Velasquez's days as head of state were numbered, as were those of several of the cabinet. He had almost enough money. Then he could afford to make the payoffs to the right people. Meanwhile he was collecting the information he needed to hamstring the others. He would not be a weak leader like Velasquez was proving to be. Currying favor with other countries, bowing to the whining of international agencies and humanitarian concerns. He fingered the picture that Lucinda Pritchard had given him, a picture of the man that had escaped. He seemed an ordinary looking man, though even in the picture Ortiz felt that there was something about those strangely colored eyes…. He pushed the picture aside and reached for the phone. He needed to keep in touch with his informants in the capital. One of the shortcomings of his position was that it kept him away from the seat of power, and things could happen without him being there. He relied on a large and well paid, if not loyal, string of informants in every cabinet member' office, as well as on the president's staff. He dialed in the number for the man on Herrera's staff.

He had a hard time maintaining informants in Herrera's office, since the man was, rightly so it turned out, paranoid about leaks, and changed his staff on a regular basis. Ortiz had made a major effort to find someone who was above suspicion, and had finally found the right buttons to push on the one man Herrera would not fire, his own brother. The fact that the brother had a propensity for young men, made him the perfect candidate for black mail, and information had been flowing ever since.

"Hello." Came the voice of Pedro Herrera.

"It's me," Ortiz said. "What information do you have on the matter we discussed?"

"I have one thing of interest. I overheard my brother on the phone. He has heard that the Americans in Barranca have decided to leave. They do not believe that the rebels will be caught, the ones that killed their man. They say that Nelson has paid much money, but no one had come forth with information. They grow discouraged, and will leave on the tide tonight. This is good news, yes?"

"Yes. Keep me informed if there is any other word."

"Of course."

Ortiz hung up the phone and sat back in his chair, a smile growing on his face. Good. Now he could hunt the American at his leisure. There was nowhere for him to go. The borders were being watched, and now there would be no submarine. He had men watching the American consulate as well. Trying to find the man could be entertaining; a type of big game hunt. The man had proven himself to be elusive, now they would see if he was cunning as well. Ortiz rocked in his chair, feeling the anticipation rising. Yes this could be quite entertaining.

In his office in the building that housed Hector Herrera's staff, Pedro Herrera put the phone down in the cradle, and turned to face his brother and the stocky red haired man that his brother had introduced as Admiral Harriman Nelson. He smiled, "I believe that I gave a good performance brother. He believed it, I could hear the satisfaction in his voice."

Hector Herrera smiled back at his brother. He was once again glad that his younger brother had come to him when he was approached by Ortiz to leak information. They had used the connection to leak disinformation to the other man for several months now. Caution had him still weeding anyone suspicious out of his staff, but so far Ortiz seemed complacent with the current circumstances. It was particularly gratifying to be able to use it in this instance since not only did this have the potential to topple Ortiz, but it had also resulted in a large cash donation from the American admiral.

"Your plan is in action Admiral." he said to Nelson, "You must let me know if I can be of any further help to you. I am positive that President Velasquez would offer any possible aid. There are those in the army that are not loyal to Ortiz."

Nelson shook his head. "The men that you've given us to help locate my captain should be sufficient. Once the Seaview moves out to sea we'll begin checking the various camps that you've pinpointed for us. We'll let you know what we find."

Herrera shook hands with the admiral and watched as the man left the office. It was late in the day and his staff was gone except for his brother and a few people working on another floor. They had taken no chances in the meeting. Herrera had been impressed with the American. The plan had been well thought out, and was to everyone's advantage, everyone that is except for Ortiz. A smile grew on his face at that thought. It seemed the time had come to make his move to rid himself and the country of the Butcher.

Harriman Nelson slipped down the back stairs of the building and into a small dark car that was parked in the alley. Sharkey was seated at the wheel, dressed in casual clothing, like the admiral, with a hat pulled down to hide his American features.

"Back to the boat, Francis." Nelson said, leaning back against the badly sprung seat. The wheels had been put into motion. The government sites would be checked by a small force of Seaview personnel with the aid of several of Herrera's men. At the same time Nelson would be going to meet with some of the rebel leaders. He would be forced to travel inland and south for quite a ways, and while he didn't like the thought of being so far away from the coast, he would at least know that the Seaview would be out to sea and standing by to send in more personnel if necessary, and they would be untouchable by anything that the armed forces of the country could field. Crane would appreciate his care with the boat and crew.

Nelson closed his eyes for a moment as he contemplated the fact that Crane might be alive. He had swung from the depths of a black despair that he hadn't even felt when Edith died to a guarded optimism that had his stomach doing flips. He desperately wanted Lee to be alive. He would do anything he had to do, go anywhere, bribe, beg, anything to bring Crane home. He wondered for a moment what kind of impact all this was going to have on the politics of this country. He had given a large amount of money to Herrera, and he was sure that this would be the downfall of the power base that Ortiz had been building. Velasquez might fear Ortiz, but Nelson suspected that Herrera was a far more dangerous adversary when it came to the political maneuverings that would determine who ran the country in the months to come. But, he couldn't be concerned about that; his only concern was Lee Crane.

They pulled up to an alley near the dock. They left the car there, and returned to the sub where preparations were underway to leave. Chip Morton was in the control room, his face stony. Nelson could see right away that the younger officer was still angry at the role that had been assigned him. There had been a short but very intense argument earlier when Nelson had unveiled his plan, but Nelson had won out. Morton would be remaining on the boat, taking her out to the 12- mile limit and standing by to send more men as needed. Morton had fought to go along with either with one of the groups checking out the camps, or with Nelson who was going alone.

He had his arguments all set, but Nelson had deflated every one with one sentence. "What would Lee expect?" After that Morton had been as efficient as always, but had been stonily grim. Nelson regretted that he had to play the card he did, but it was essential that a senior officer stay on board, and it wasn't going to be him. Call it 'admiral's privilege'; call it whatever you wanted, but HE was not going to remain on the boat. Besides, one of the conditions for meeting with the rebel leaders had been that he come, alone. Herrera had provided a helicopter for their use, and while Nelson knew the man wouldn't approve of his meeting with the rebels, that also was too bad. The helicopter would be piloted by one of his own men, and Herrera needn't ever know to what use the helicopter was put. Nelson would be meeting the rebel leaders in the morning just after dawn. The helicopter would be waiting for them at 0400 on a farm north of the city that lay on a small peninsula where a small boat could be landed easily.

Nelson went to the nose, and Morton joined him shortly thereafter. Nelson smiled gently at Morton who looked away. "I know Chip. But you know I'm right on this. He would expect it and it is the right thing to do. You need to be HERE."

"It might be the right thing to do sir, but it doesn't FEEL right and I don't have to like it."

"Indeed." Nelson lit a cigarette and sat back in his chair. He began sharing the results of his meetings with Morton. He wanted the XO to know everything that was going on. That way if anything happened to him, Morton could pick up the trail. Morton listened closely, obviously interested despite his anger.

"Can you really trust this Herrera? None of the men in this government are exactly trustworthy if you ask me." He finally asked.

"Trust him? No. Use him, as he's using me? Yes." Nelson replied.

"Just so you watch your back. There won't be anyone else there, and Lee's already in it up to his neck. We really don't want to have to come get you both."

"I'll keep that in mind. The rebels now know that we are not pro-government, and it is in their best interests to deal with us. The leaders of the rebels are not uneducated men. They are businessmen and landowners and scientists. They will be reasonable."

"Just as long as they haven't sunk to the same level as the men they are fighting against. It's been known to happen. Even to educated men." Morton warned, determined that Nelson take care and not let his desperate hope of finding Crane alive lead him into more danger than necessary.

"Point taken, Chip, I'll be careful." He looked around the Control Room, watching as final preparations were made to depart. "Looks like we're ready to sail." He observed.

Morton nodded and got to his feet. He started to move back to the control room and then stopped his back to Nelson. He stood there for a moment then turned. "Do you really think he's still alive?" he asked softly so that it didn't carry back to the men on duty.

Nelson met his eyes, "I have to. It's the only thing that's keeping me going." The two men shared a look of understanding and with a nod Morton went to take the boat out of port.

Chapter 14-

Lee Crane stood outside the hut and watched as a jeep pulled in to the common area at the other end of the small village. It was almost dark now, and he could not see clearly. Two men got out of the back, and the jeep drove off. The two men met with two others who came out of a hut when the jeep stopped, one of them Torres. Crane saw them glance in his direction. From this distance he thought he recognized one of the newcomers for sure, and possibly the second. He suspected that he would be sent for soon, and went back in the healer's hut to thank her and to let her know that he would be probably not be back. She smiled up at him.

"You will not be leaving tonight. You have to sleep somewhere, and the cot is available. You are welcome. We can speak more of Spain and the Mediterranean. It has been so long since I was there, through your stories I can see it again as when I was a young girl."

It had been revealed that the old woman had been born in Spain, the daughter of a physician. She had trained to be his nurse almost from the time she could walk, and when he had immigrated here when she was in her early twenties she had come with him. Here she had met and married the love of her life, an older man who had owned a great deal of property. For many years she had enjoyed the life of a Patrona, acting as the local nurse/doctor as needed after the death of her father, and had a son. Then the unrest had begun. The parliament was overthrown and a dictator had seized power in the name of civil control. His oppressive government had fallen to another, then that one to yet another. As the regimes passed more and more landowners were forced to give great portions of their property to the state or have it seized in the name of the people. Thousands of protestors disappeared, including her son. Finally, after years of fending off crooked and greedy politicians, and crushed by the death of his only son her husband had refused the latest edict, and had been shot against the wall of their home along with most of his family members. She had been gone, helping in the birth of a baby, and had been warned not to return home lest she join her husband. She had returned only after the government troops had left, to find her husband's body mutilated.

She had buried the only family she had left and moved on. She had never remarried, and had devoted herself to helping the cause of the rebels in any way she could. She had vast financial resources overseas, courtesy of her father and her late husband who had been a clever businessman. She funded many supplies for the cause, and had spent years of her life among them, helping with their medical needs. During her teenage years in Spain she had traveled with her mother all around the Mediterranean, and had fond memories of many of the countries there. Crane and she had discussed many places they had both visited, comparing the changes. Crane had been amused to find that in the years she had been with the rebels she had acted as a spy on many occasions, becoming a good judge of character, and very good at her job.

He agreed to come back that night, circumstances permitting, and just as he was starting to go back outside, there was a knock at the door. He was being summoned to meet the man he had named. He followed the messenger across the common area and entered the hut indicated. There were four men seated in a ring on the floor. He took the open spot indicated and found himself looking directly into the face of Lucano Nerida, one of the men he had known previously, and one of the top men in the rebel army. As their eyes met Nerida's face broke into a huge grin.

"Rico! It's IS you. I never expected you to see you again. When they said a man named Rico Marinaro was asking for me I thought it was a trick. I was prepared to kill a government spy." He said raising a gun he had been holding down next to his leg. "Why are you here, and who has done this to you?"

"It's go to see you Lucano. It's been a long time. I'm glad that you're still alive." Crane said, smiling back and ignoring the gun. He had seen it when he sat down, so it was no surprise, and he was not offended. Caution was sometimes the only thing that kept you alive out here.

"It has been a close thing my friend. If not for you and your….advice last year we would not have gotten this far. We can see a light at the end of the tunnel. Velasquez is losing his power. It is only a matter of time."

"I'm glad. I need your help to get back to my boat, the Seaview. I was kidnapped by….an enemy of my employer, working with Ortiz. I managed to get away, but they are looking for me. I have a feeling that Ortiz, and …others really don't want me available to tell my story."

"Of course we will help. We owe you and your country that. But it will not take much effort on our part." Nerida said, smiling again. When Crane looked at him in puzzlement, he laughed. "Your employer, an Admiral Nelson, I believe? He contacted a friend of a friend. He has sent word that he believes that Ortiz was responsible for the kidnapping of one of his men, and that he will pay us a large sum of money to help him locate that man. Of course we did not know then that the Captain Crane that he spoke of was you. We agreed to meet him here tomorrow morning."

Crane was speechless for a moment. He was finding it hard to believe that after three days of one bad turn after another, fate had finally decided to give him a break. Nelson was coming here, tomorrow! He could be back on his boat in less than a day, back with his friends, his family. He broke into a big grin. "You my friend," he said to Nerida, "are a miracle worker. I was prepared to beg for safe passage to Barranca, or for help getting over the boarder to Venezuela. I didn't have anything to offer other than my thanks. It seems I still get to give you those."

Nerida nodded, and then looked at the other men. "This is my friend, Valdez, and you have met Torres, the other is Guarana. They too are leaders. While we wait for your admiral, perhaps you could share with them some of the things you spoke of with me. We are not warriors by choice, and to have the advice of one who understands these things is very valuable."

Crane thought for a moment. His mission a year before had been to see that a rather large arms shipment made it in to the rebels from a neighboring country, carefully neutral in the media, but secretly supportive of the rebel cause, and willing to cooperate. He and his team had spent almost three weeks in the hills with Nerida's group, helping them plan attacks and teaching them how to use the weapons. He had never been exactly sure why ONI had been involved in the process, since it was usually the CIA who concerned themselves with 'military advisors' and arming revolutionaries. There had been something beyond the weapons and advice, of that Crane was sure. He suspected that his presence had paid a debt of some kind, or had gotten the ONI something they wanted, but he never knew what it was. He saw no reason that he shouldn't do the same again with these men. He nodded his agreement, and listened closely as the man named Valdez asked the first of many questions.

In his main compound Ortiz was finishing up on a report for submission to Velasquez. It was carefully tailored to present Ortiz in the best possible light without giving away any actual information. Over the years he had become quite good at it. He signed his name with a flourish, and thought about how he would be signing much more important documents soon, as President of the country. There was a knock at the door.

"Enter." he said, wondering who would be bothering him at his time of night since he usually retired to his suite with….company by now. It was Moya, his sergeant and right hand man.

"Senor, one of our scout patrols has just reported back. They have spotted Valdez and Nerida at a small village in the mountains to the east. They say that they were meeting with two other men, and then a tall, thin, dark haired man who did not look like a campesino and is not a rebel leader joined them. I think this may be your American."

"Good! Finally someone does what I pay them for. How many troops do we have available?"

"We have only thirty men here, and another 20 out searching. I assume you do not want to pull regular troops…." Before the man could continue the thought Ortiz cut him off.

"No, I do not want the regular army involved, too much gossip. We will stay with my special troops. Get the men ready to go. Are there any helicopters available?"

"No sir. We have the only the trucks and the jeeps."

"How long?" Ortiz said standing to belt on his holster.

"We will be there shortly after dawn. We may be able to attack while they still sleep."

"Good, good." Ortiz was pleased. As much as he had been looking forward to the chase, he was even happier to know that he would be catching four rebel leaders with one blow, and catch the American as a bonus. There were other entertainments to be had, when one was willing to pay the price. He would have to think about how he would reward himself for his success. With a lascivious smile he followed his sergeant from the room.

Chapter 15-

Nelson watched out the window of the helicopter as the sun rose over the mountains. It was a spectacular sight, made even more so by the thought of where he was going, what he was doing. They were going to find Lee Crane, either the teams working the various government facilities, or the rebels that he was going to speak to, one way or the other, Lee would be found. Nelson was aware that the helicopter was starting down, and he saw that they were heading for a clearing. He realized that without the rising sun, they would have never found the small opening in the forest canopy. Even with the budding light, he could not make out any sign of a village or habitation nearby.

They landed and Nelson climbed out. He turned and spoke to Hopkins, the pilot from the Seaview. "I'll meet you back here in two hours."

"I could just stay here admiral…." The rating started to say, but Nelson was shaking his head.

"They said alone, and I'm not willing to mess this up." He said, and shut the door. He moved back to the edge of the small clearing as the helicopter took off. He then stood there and waited. He had received no instructions beyond being at this clearing at a certain time. He spun around as he heard the sound of an automatic weapon being cocked, and then froze. There were three men, all armed with what looked like Uzi's. He wondered that the rebels were so well armed. The guns were expensive, and did not fire the same size rounds as the government arms. The rebels must be better funded and armed than the government wished anyone to believe. He raised his hands, being sure that he kept his right hand away from the pistol at his side.

The men did not speak, but instead indicated that he should go down a path that led to the east and into a small valley. They walked for about five minutes up a small slope, and finally broke out of the forest into a wide-open area. There were several adobe huts, and fires were just being stirred to life around the common area. There were only a few women moving about so far, but Nelson could see that they were heading toward a hut that had a light inside. He and his escort paused outside the hut, and one of the men disappeared inside for a moment. He came out and nodded to Nelson to go in. He then started across the common area toward another hut. The other two men stayed on either side of the door, as guards apparently.

There were four men sitting on the floor of the hut, around a small fire. As he entered one of the men rose to his feet and came forward, hand extended. "Admiral Nelson? I am Lucano Nerida. I am the man your friend contacted. I understand you wanted our help to locate your captain."

"Yes, " Nelson said, shaking the extended hand. "I have very good reason to believe that his execution was faked, and that Enrique Ortiz is involved."

A wide grin crossed the other man's face and he nodded. "And you are right my friend! He WAS involved, though evidently not as the primary planner, but they did not know who they were dealing with, eh?"

Nelson was puzzled at this. He wasn't aware that the rebel leader had been briefed on the issues this well. He was under the impression that this was the reason he was here, instead it seemed that this man had knowledge that Nelson didn't have.

"How do you know…"

"Because Admiral, Rico Marinaro, the man you know as Lee Crane told me so!" Nerida took in the amazed look that crossed Nelson's face and burst out laughing. "Forgive me. I had to have my little fun. The look on your face…but come, Tejado went to get Rico, your Lee Crane. Let us go meet them. He did not know you would be here so early, we only told him "in the morning" so that he would sleep. Our doctor is a crafty woman." He headed out the door, a stunned Nelson following behind him.

Lee was here, and evidently all right, though a doctor had been mentioned. Not that it was unusual for Crane to need a doctor. Nelson eagerly picked up his pace, almost overhauling Nerida. He looked toward the hut they were approaching just as a tall familiar figure stepped from the hut.

"Admiral!" Came the much-missed voice, and then he was there, in front of Nelson, even thinner than usual, pale and showing the signs of abuse on his face and in the way he stood, but ALIVE! Ignoring all the strangers around them Nelson stepped forward and swept Crane into a hug, one that was returned after a moment of surprise. Nelson knew that the hesitation was not from lack of feeling, but was only the fact that he had seldom if ever greeted his captain in this manner before, but this time, after thinking him dead, he needed to feel the life coursing through the thin frame.

"Thank God, Lee. Thank God." He murmured to his friend. They stepped back from each other, and their eyes met, golden and blue, both moist with unshed tears. Crane put a hand on Nelson's shoulder.

"I'm sorry sir. I know it must have been hard…."he started to say but Nelson cut him off.

"You have no idea. Don't ever do that again. That's an order Captain." Nelson said a twinkle in his eyes. Crane rewarded him with a smile.

Nerida, who had been standing to the side, watching the reunion with a smile, put a hand on Crane's shoulder. "Come my friend. We will have some breakfast, and tell your admiral what has happened. Then you can help us to plan the downfall of Enrique Ortiz." He started them back across the clearing. Nelson who was slightly behind saw Crane's head turn toward the forest, in the direction he had come in. Suddenly Crane gave Nerida a shove that sent him to the ground and turned back toward Nelson. As he turned Nelson heard him yelling in the local dialect about an attack. He saw the men coming out of the forest as Crane flung himself towards Nelson, evidently trying to get him down out of the line of fire. The first shot sounded and Crane was thrown forward into Nelson's arms as the bullet impacted his back in the upper left shoulder. Nelson, unprepared for the dead weight, wrapped his arms around Crane and both men fell to the ground, Nelson trying his best to cushion the fall for his now unconscious captain. They had fallen in a fortuitous space, behind one of the logs set around one of the permanent fires, obviously meant as a seat for those eating or just enjoying the heat of the fire. Nelson dragged the unmoving Crane closer to the log and saw Nerida, pistol in hand firing toward the edge of the forest. Other people were firing from the huts.

Nelson could now see the wisdom of the placement of this village. Not only was it hidden in the small valley but the rapidly rising cliffs on either side made it impossible for the attackers to move around and flank the village. They could only attack from down the valley, the way Nelson had come in. Since Crane had raised the alarm, the well armed, and evidently well trained, rebels were mounting a very determined effort to protect their camp. Nelson could see women and children leaving the village to the east, evidently they had an evacuation plan in effect. The question was now however, what kind of armament did the attackers have, and how long could the rebels hold them off? Nelson looked down at the pale face of Lee Crane. How had things gone so terribly wrong? Was this never going to end? He dug a handkerchief out of his pocket, and rolling Crane over placed it as a bandage on the wound. He had already seen that there was no exit wound, something else to worry about. That done, and keeping pressure on the wound with his left hand, he un-holstered his pistol and looked for a target.

On board the Seaview Chip Morton was still in a snit. He couldn't call it anything else, except for maybe pouting. He knew that moving the Seaview out to sea was a crucial part of the plan. He also knew that Crane would never condone doing so without a senior officer aboard. Not that Crane didn't have faith in Bobby O'Brien's skills, but when the boat was on alert, and things were tense, Crane, and Morton himself, felt that there needed to be someone with more experience at the con. Morton's luck was to be the most junior of the three senior officers. It wasn't like he could pull rank on the admiral. He was now pacing back and forth between the periscope island and the chart table, waiting for word for someone, anyone, about what was going on.

He was making a turn back to the chart table when spark's called out from the radio shack. "Mr. Morton, I've got Hopkins on the line. He says it's urgent."

Morton strode back to the radio shack and took the mike that Sparks held out. "This is Morton, go ahead."

"Sir," came Hopkins voice, with the sound of the helicopter in the background. Morton took that to mean that he was in the air. "The admiral had me take off after I dropped him, told me to come back in two hours. I went ahead, figured I'd find a clearing not too far off and wait. Be near by just in case you know? Well I'm about ten miles out and there is a caravan of army trucks and jeeps heading for the clearing were I dropped the admiral. There's supposed to be a village over there somewhere and I think they're going there cause there ain't nothing else out here. Over"

"Hopkins what are your coordinates?" Morton asked, gesturing for paper and pencil from Sparks. He wrote down the numbers that Hopkins recited. "Stand by Hopkins."

He spun toward Hillisand at the satellite control station. "Get me a satellite view of that area, I don't care if you have to hack in, but get me something." The man nodded and bent over his consol. Morton lifted the mike again. "Hopkins. How many men, can you tell?"

"Looks like around 40 or so sir, I don't see any big guns, but they all have machine guns…holy sh…" There was a loud bang and then silence. Morton looked at Sparks who began flipping switches.

"Hopkins this is Seaview come in. Hopkins do you read?" There was silence for a moment then they all let out a breath as they heard the pilot's voice once again.

"God but that was too close. Sorry Seaview but they just shot off a SAM at me. Almost took it head on. I don't think I want to be hovering around them no more."

"Back off Hopkins, stay at as safe a distance as possible but keep an eye on them. How much further for them before they reach the area where you dropped the admiral?" Morton asked.

"About another 15 minutes by road I think sir, they didn't even slow down to take the shot at me. They're in a hurry, and they're armed for bear."

Morton couldn't help but smile at the description. He saw Hillisand trying to get his attention, "Hopkins stand by, and keep your head down." He moved over to the Satellite control station "What you got Hank?" he asked the young rating.

"I got a DOD asset in geo-stationary orbit overhead right now. Seems they been watching for a while. I got in without using our regular codes." As he spoke Hillisand was working his keyboard and dials, and finally a picture appeared. The screen darkened then the picture came back, and Morton could see that they had zoomed in. He could recognize the coastline, the cities, even the harbor where they had just been. The screen darkened again, and they were closer, looking at a vast forest. Again it changed and this time there was a road cutting through the forest with something dark moving on it. Another flux and they were looking at army trucks and jeeps moving down a road. As the picture sharpened they could see that the small convoy had come to a stop and men were getting out of the trucks. The clarity was enough to see that there were about 40 men. They quickly seemed to organize themselves and started east through the forest.

"Can you pull it back and see what's ahead in that direction?" Morton instructed, indicating the east. Hillisand nodded and typed furiously for a moment. The picture resolved to show a wider area, and they could see a small village nestled in a valley. The picture focused in again to show a wide common area and about twenty huts. There were people moving around. Some more typing and Morton watched as a man that had to be Nelson, followed a second man across the common area. They were nearing another hut when a tall thin man stepped out.

"Lee!" Morton murmured to himself. He felt tears build in his eyes and blinked them away rapidly. He didn't have time for that now. The army was coming, and you could be sure they weren't coming to say hello. He tapped Hillisand's shoulder. "Show me the army troops."

"They're right there sir, they'll be coming into frame in just a moment." The rating replied, his face pale at the implications of what was happening.

Morton tried to force his mind to think. To push aside the joy he had felt at seeing his friend alive. He knew what he had to do, and was starting to speak when Hillisand swore.

"They've attacked, Sir! They're strung out along the western edge of the village. They can't get around because of the cliffs, and the people in the village are holding them back for now."

Morton glanced quickly at the screen, seeing three forms behind a low wall or something. Two of them didn't seem to be moving much. He shook it off, he couldn't think about it now. He grabbed the nearest mike. "Missile room." He snapped

"Missile room, aye." Came the reply.

"Load missile tubes two and four with the h345's." he ordered.

There was a short silence, then "Aye sir, loading two and four with Hellfires." It took several moments, during which Morton watched the satellite picture. Nothing seemed to change much. They could see men moving along the edge of the forest, and they watched as people began moving out of the village to the east. A narrow winding path could be seen, and he suspected that they were seeing the non-combatants leaving the area under the covering fire. Suddenly the missile control board went green, and Sharkey who had been hovering there turned to Morton.

"All green sir!" he reported

"Target the area behind the attackers, give them about 50 yards leeway. I don't want them dead, but I want them to feel the heat."

"Aye Sir." Sharkey said, and got the coordinates from Hillisand. "We're ready sir."

"Fire two." The boat rocked as the first missile sped away. "Fire four and reload, retarget directly on their position." He didn't think more would be needed, but he wanted to be ready. Sharkey began counting down.

"Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven, Six, Five, Four, Three, Two, One, Impact." There was a sudden flare from the satellite screen, followed seconds later by another flare. When it cleared they saw the attackers fleeing into the open area. Some, who came out shooting, were shot down others were raising their hands and being taken prisoner. The hellfires had worked their magic.

"Yes!" he said, triumphant. The crew in the control room burst out in a cheer, hastily quashed by Sharky. Morton looked at the screen noticing that two of the figures had not moved from behind the wall or whatever it was, but they had been joined by another figure. He grabbed the mike again. "Hopkins you still there?"

"Yes sir, Mr. Morton." Came the reply.

"Get back to the admiral. Did you see the explosions?"

"Couldn't miss it sir. The missiles went in right over my head."

"There's a village just to the east. There's a common area that you should be able to land in. Keep in touch and let us know what's happening."

"Aye sir"

The satellite picture suddenly cut out. Hillisand typed furiously for a moment, but nothing happened. He turned to Morton. "We've been shut out sir. DOD evidently noticed the explosions and took control of the satellite. I could hack it given enough time." Morton shook his head at the unasked question. They would just have to wait for information. He was sure that the Department of Defense would have a few things to say about the missile use as it was and he didn't need the additional problem about hacking their satellite.

"Sparks, keep me informed when Hopkins calls in." he ordered as he went to the chart table.

"Aye Sir"

Morton began charting a course back toward the coast. He would bring it in as close as possible to the area where the helicopter had taken off that morning. Sharkey appeared at his side. He cast a glance at the COB.

"What do you think happened to the admiral, Mr. Morton? Do you think that was the skipper?"

"I don't know what happened chief, but I'm pretty sure that was the captain. We'll have to wait and see. We're going in as close as possible. Have a team standing by to take a raft in…and have the doc standing by."

Sharkey searched his eyes for a moment, then nodded and headed aft. Morton finished the course and turned give the orders that would bring them closer to land.

Chapter 16-

Nelson holstered his weapon and bent over his unmoving captain. "Lee!" he cried, unwilling to believe that fate would be so cruel as to give the man back only to take him moments later. The handkerchief he had placed on the wound was soaked in blood. He was trying to tear a section of Crane's shirt for a new bandage when another pair of hands appeared, with a compress. The hands belonged to an old woman, dressed in the local peasant cloths, but with sharp intelligent eyes, worried eyes. She knelt on the other side of Crane and brushed a hand through his short hair.

"He is not lucky, this one. It is good that he is strong and that he has good friends to give him strength." She said in accented English as she added yet another compress. She looked at Nelson. "Was there an exit wound?"

"No" he answered, and saw her frown. She examined the placement of the wound carefully, and shook her head.

"I can do nothing for him here. There is too much of a chance of causing more damage, and if it is lodged near the lung….." she trailed off. She looked around. Seeing several more wounded she shook her head again. "I have many patients. Some I can help. We must get him to a hospital. Perhaps one of their jeeps…but you will have to move slowly, you cannot jar him with the bullet still inside. If it is near the lung and it punctures he will die." She rose to her feet. Suddenly a helicopter appeared overhead, the strange acoustics of the valley having hid the sound until it was overhead. Nelson recognized it immediately. He leaped to his feet, waving to the men who were raising their weapons to fire at the now landing aircraft.

"No, don't fire! It's mine." The rifles were lowered after Nerida, who was standing directing the securing of the captives nearby nodded to the men. Nelson turned to the old woman. "Can we move him in the helicopter? I can take him back to my submarine. Our doctor can do the surgery. We can be there in less than 30 minutes." He desperately wanted to get Lee back to the Seaview, wanted to get him into Jamieson's skilled, familiar hands.

She studied the machine and nodded. "You must keep pressure on the wound. It is in an awkward place. It will not be easy to bandage, and it will need constant pressure and changing. I will give you plenty of compresses." She turned and signaled to two men who were standing near. "Pedro, Jose. You will carry him. You will be very careful not to jostle him around." She said, and Nelson had the distinct impression that it would be done exactly as she said. He moved aside as the men moved in, and followed closely behind as they went toward the helicopter, speeding up to go ahead as they got closer. Hopkins had gotten out of the aircraft and seeing what they intended hurried to open the rear door. Nelson patted his arm as he went past, and climbed into the rear seat. He buckled his seat belt, and the two men carefully maneuvered Crane inside so that he lay across the rest of the seat with his upper body leaning against Nelson, his head on Nelson's shoulder. In this position Nelson could hold the pressure against the wound, and protect Crane from any jolts. The two men climbed out of the machine, and Nerida appeared in the doorway. He reached out and patted Crane's leg.

"He is a good man, a warrior." He said to Nelson. "Tell him we will use his ideas. The ones we have captured say that Ortiz was here, but he got away, so be wary of him. He is bitter in his hatred. Be assured that we WILL deal with him in the end though." He backed out of the door at the prodding of the small old woman, who handed a bundle of compresses in to Nelson, and then spread a blanket over the still form. She too patted the nearest leg of Crane. She looked at Nelson.

"You must keep him warm to fight off the shock." Nelson nodded his understanding and drew the blanket up and over Crane. "You have a contact in the consulate, no?" she said. Nelson nodded again. "I would like to know that he is well. Please have them send a message. I am Abuela. The message will get to me." She patted the leg again and moved away. Nerida closed the door. Hopkins, who after one look at the pale face of his captain, had climbed into the pilot's seat, waited until everyone was clear and started the process of taking off. He noted that Nelson had put on the headphones and mike, and tripped the button to allow for communications.

"Should I alert the Seaview sir? Get them to have a boat standing by?" he asked anxiously. The captain really looked bad.

"Yes, in fact let me speak with them." Hopkins switched the communications and raised Sparks who put Morton on right away.

"This is Morton. Are you all right admiral?"

"I'm fine. I can't say the same for Lee though. He needs Jaime, badly. Can you move in toward the peninsula and have a boat waiting? You better send Jaime along with it." Nelson said grimly, making sure that he was applying steady pressure. It bothered him that there had been no sign from Crane that he was regaining consciousness.

"We're already standing off the peninsula sir. We've got a boat in the water and we'll have Jaime there and waiting when you land. How… how bad is it?"

"Bullet in the back." He said succinctly "Good timing on the missiles by the way. H345s weren't they?" He said with some asperity.

"Missiles sir? I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. How would we launch any missiles? We had no coordinates." Morton said in a serious voice.

"Ah yes, very true. However there are the manifests regarding the number of missiles were taken aboard…." Nelson said.

"I believe everything was accounted for after the testing run we did sir. I have the updated manifest available." Morton replied, a small smile in his voice.

"Very good, Mr. Morton; it's important to keep good records." Nelson said. He felt Crane stir in his arms, and he increased the pressure on the wound, noticing that the compress was becoming soaked. He replaced it, feeling Crane's head move against his shoulder. "Lee, can you hear me?" he murmured, not wanting to startle the wounded man.

The dark lashes fluttered several times, and finally lifted halfway to reveal glazed golden eyes. A puzzled look came over his face, and Nelson moved his head so that he was more in the younger man's field of vision. The puzzled look disappeared to be replaced by concern.

"Admiral are you…" it was a whisper, and Crane obviously didn't have the strength to finish the question, but Nelson suspected he knew what the question was.

"I'm fine Lee. It's you that needs Jaime's tending. We're on the way now." He said, trying to answer any questions so that Crane could save his strength. The captain squirmed under his hand.

"Hurts…" he hissed, eyes closing again.

"I know. You caught a bullet high on your left side."

"The village…Nerida…Abuela?" Crane asked.

"Nerida and Abuela were fine when we left. I know there were some casualties on both sides, but not too many. Chip's quick thinking saved the day and our hides. You'll be proud of him. We'll tell you all about it while Jaime tries to keep you in sickbay."

"Be nice to get home." Crane murmured, his head falling back to lie heavily on Nelson's shoulder. Nelson thought he had passed out again, but then Crane spoke softly. "It was Pritchard….wanted you to suffer…made you hurt over me…sorry." His body relaxed against Nelson's, unconscious again.

Nelson used his free hand to brush the hair off the slightly warm forehead then slid it down the side of Crane's face in a rough caress. He had heard the guilt in Crane's voice, as if it had been his fault. That was an idea Nelson would quickly squash. He knew now where the blame lay. He felt the anger building. Pritchard! All this pain, this agony of grief, all a plot to get revenge? Lee had suffered at the hands of those animals so that some rich son of bitch could feel he had gotten some of his own back? That Crane hadn't even been the target of that hate was worse somehow. Nelson had many enemies, some who wanted him dead, and others who would simply be happy to see him suffer. That one of them would strike at him through Lee had not been a consideration. Nelson was reminded of the quote he had read years ago, "Those who would have sons give hostages to fortune." Indeed.

He held Crane tighter against him as the helicopter started down. He looked out the window for the first time since he had gotten in the helicopter and saw that they were landing back in the farmer's field where they had taken off that morning. He found it hard to believe that it had only been a few hours since then. As the helicopter settled to the ground and Hopkins killed the engine Nelson saw a group running toward the helicopter, Morton in the lead. He should have known that the man would find some way to get off the boat to his friend. Morton wrenched the door open and looked in, his face going pale as he saw the blood stained compress and shirt. His eyes met Nelson's and then he climbed into the helicopter and began the task of getting his best friend out of the helicopter and onto the stretcher that was on the ground outside the door. Jamieson and Frank, his corpsman, were waiting as Morton and Kowalski maneuvered the limp form out of the helicopter. Once they lay him down, on his face at the doctor's request, they stepped back to allow access.

Jamieson bent over the still form, feeling for a pulse. It was weak, but steady, and he once again thanked the gods that watched over certain submarine captains for the strength that the slim form held. He lifted the sodden compress and looked at the wound. He wasn't happy with the possible placement of the bullet, but at least it hadn't punctured the lung. He replaced the compress with a new one, and nodded to Frank who was ready to start an IV. That being done, Jamieson nodded to Morton and Nelson who were waiting anxiously. "He shocky and has lost a lot of blood. I won't know until I can get an x-ray where the bullet is lodged, but I think he'll be fine. From the looks of his back he's had a pretty hard time of it, and he' s pretty weak so I wouldn't expect him to bounce back as quickly as usual."

Nelson and Morton looked relieved. Nelson frowned as Jamieson's comments played back through his head. "What do you mean about his back Jaime?" he asked.

Jamieson reached over and pulled up the shirt revealing the slim, muscular back to the gaze of the two senior officers. There was a gasp and a swear word from Kowalski. A series of dark bruises covered a good portion of the exposed area. One of the bruises was in the obvious shape of a boot. Nelson heard Morton growl under his breath, and he himself felt the anger he had felt earlier flare even higher. Pritchard would not get away with this!

Jamieson looked up at Nelson, seeing the fire burning in those blue eyes, "He was walking around before he got shot from what I hear that's a good sign. It means there wasn't much damage beyond the bruising. It looks bad, and probably hurts like hell. It could have been worse however. Let's get him back to the sub."

Kowalski and Frank picked up the stretcher gently and they started toward the boat, the others following along. Hopkins closed up the helicopter and just left it there as they had been instructed. It would be reported stolen later in the day, and then found in the field by the police once the farmer called it in, just some kind of strange joy ride.

There were two boats waiting. Jamieson and Frank, by necessity, went with Crane, Kowalski going along to run the motor. Nelson, Morton, and Hopkins took the second boat and followed closely behind. All were eager to return to the Seaview, to have this finally be over.

Chapter 17-

It was five hours later when Nelson entered the sickbay. The lights were dimmed, and he could see a still form in one of the lower bunks. He went to the side of the bunk and looked down at his captain. Crane was curled on his side, his shoulder heavily bandaged. With no shirt on Nelson could see the bruising all over the slim torso, along with what looked like scratches across the chest and abdomen. There were bandages on both wrists and the right hand was swathed also. The handsome face was mostly unmarked, except for a bruise near the temple, and Nelson had to smile. The captain of the world's most powerful submarine, ONI agent extraordinaire, and highly trained naval officer looked about five years old. He brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen over Crane's forehead. He was happy to feel no fever. He caught sight of the Academy ring on his right hand, an unaccustomed weight. He took it off, and carefully lifted Crane's left hand, returning the ring to its rightful place. He heard a throat clear from across the room and turned to find Jamieson standing in his office doorway.

The doctor had changed back to his khakis from the surgical garb he had been wearing earlier when he had come out of the operating room and told them that Crane would recover nicely. He had told Nelson and Morton that they would have to wait until Crane was settled in a bunk before they could see him, and evidently Nelson was the first. Jamieson nodded into his office, and Nelson, with one last look at Crane, followed the doctor in. He sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk, and looked curiously at Jamieson.

"Just a quick update about the various injuries, admiral. It'll be in my report of course, but it may be easier to hear from me." Nelson nodded in understanding. The stark reality of a written report could be too much.

"The bullet hole you know about and the bruising on his back. I'm sure you saw his abdomen and chest. More bruising, a cracked rib on the lower left side, boots again it looks like. The scratches look like human fingernails made them don't ask me how or why. Both wrists, both ankles have rope burns, slightly infected. I have him on Tetracycline for that. Right hand was a mess. It had been cut up pretty badly. Glass I would say, but there were no fragments left. It was also infected, though it looks like the infection was waning on its own. Whoever had taken care of him did a good job. His feet were a mess too, cuts, bruises and one really good gash on the side of the left foot. I've disinfected them, but they had been pretty well taken care of. All in all not an unusual report for our captain. He's young, he's strong, and he's stubborn. He'll be trying to get out of here as soon as the anesthetic wears off so I'll be keeping him woozy for a while. He needs to stay off his feet, and let that shoulder wound heal. As I told you earlier only a fraction to the left and it would have been in the lung. As it is he's weak from the blood loss and the shock. And to top it all off he's managed to loose about ten pounds. I wish I could do that in the course of five days."

"I don't think you would like the diet regime Jaime." Nelson quipped. "I'm sure Lee would be happy to take you along one of his runs when he gets better."

Jamieson raised a hand. "I don't run unless something is chasing me. I'll get my exercise the regular way, trying to keep him in that bunk." The two men laughed. Both turned their heads toward the door as they heard someone enter the sickbay. They could see Chip Morton's tall form stop by Crane's bunk. They saw him take Crane's limp hand in his own and just hold it for a minute before he turned away and joined them in the office.

"This the waiting area?" he asked, looking at the smiling faces.

"Pull up a seat Chip." Jamieson said. "I was just going over the damages. All in all he's been beat up pretty good, and on top of that he's had the bullet. He's tired, he's weak from the blood lose, and he's still fighting the infections. I've got him pretty well doped up now, and will be keeping him that way for at least another day. After that I think about two weeks before he can return to light duty." He raised a hand a Morton started to speak. "And yes, I know that it'll be an uphill battle all the way to keep him anywhere near a bunk for that long. That's what you two are for. He needs the rest. Even the strongest man needs to be able to recuperate. I'm counting on you two to help me make it work."

Morton was so glad that his friend was back from the dead that he didn't even hesitate. Whatever Crane needed that was what he would get. "You try to take him off the boat and you'll have a fight on your hands. You know how he is when he's been hurt. He likes to be here, it's where he feels the best." Morton threw a look around the sickbay, and added, "Well, not HERE exactly."

"You're right Chip he does do best when he's on Seaview, but he will be chomping at the bit to get back to work. And that's just not going to happen" Jamieson said firmly.

Nelson nodded. "How about if he thought he was helping me, by coming along with me on a small vacation, say to my cabin? I…think I could be pretty convincing on needing some time to decompress after all that's gone on. I'm not afraid to say that this has been…hard. In fact Jaime you could help out by ordering me to get off the boat for my health. With the proper staging we could put on a convincing act I would say."

Jaime gave an evil smile. "Actually Admiral I had been meaning to speak to you about that..."

"Don't go there, Jaime. We want to keep this friendly." Nelson warned, interrupting. The doctor sat back in his chair, a small smirk on his face. He was going to get what he wanted, both Nelson and Crane off the boat and RESTING. He wouldn't complain.

"Lee's going to kill us if he finds out we've been plotting." Morton said, with a nervous glance through the door at the still figure.

Jamieson shook his head. "Don't sweat it. He's very deep right now, wouldn't know if a bomb went off in here."

Nelson smiled. "I bet if Chip was to get on the intercom and call general quarters or battle stations you'd find out he wasn't quite as deep as you think."

Jamieson grimaced. "Let's not try it, huh. My scientific curiosity isn't that strong, or my patience that long." The other two men laughed. He glared at them. "Speaking of my patience and my patient, I actually would like you both to go away and get some rest right now. It has been a …strenuous several days, and neither of you have slept worth a damn. He" He nodded his head toward the sleeping captain, "is not going to be aware of anything until in the morning at the least, so an all night vigil will NOT be necessary or tolerated."

Nelson and Morton looked at each other with a grin. "I guess he told us." Morton said and rose to his feet, the picture of injured dignity. He sniffed in Jamieson's direction then turned to Nelson. "Dinner?" he asked.

"Why yes, I would like that. I'm a little hungry."

Jamieson's snort made them both laugh again. They both stepped in to take a last look at their sleeping friend, and then left. Jamieson lowered the lights further, now that the expected visitors had made their appearance. He paused for a moment and placed a hand on the dark head. "Welcome home captain." He murmured and went back to his office. He was planning on staying there on the cot he had put in shortly after joining Seaview. Not that he expected any problems, but he always took extra care with this particular patient.

The next morning Nelson was seated in a chair next to Crane's bunk when he heard a low moan. He put down the journal he had been reading and looked at his captain. Jamieson had been correct in his estimate of how long it would be before the younger man awoke, as it was now just after 1100 hours. Nelson took the undamaged hand in his and spoke softly. "Lee. Can you hear me?"

To Lee Crane waking up was something of a challenge. He had become aware somehow, in the depths of the comforting darkness, that he was back on his boat. He just knew. With that firmly in mind he had no compunction with trying to sink back into the darkness that had given him the rest his body had so desperately needed, but something kept him from going. He didn't realize for a moment what it was then he heard the voice. That voice he would recognize, anywhere, anytime. Nelson was speaking to him, saying his name, and there was warmth where his hand was. The darkness forgotten he struggled to open his eyes, wanting to see his friend. The events of their last meeting flew through his head as disjointed pictures. Seeing Nelson coming toward him from across the common area, feeling the strong arms around him and then seeing the army moving in. After that it was even more random. He remembered the sound of explosions, a helicopter, Jamieson leaning over him, and being on a small boat. Obviously Nelson had brought him back to Seaview, but how long ago had that been? He succeeded in opening his eyes, and found himself looking into the clear blue eyes of Harriman Nelson, who was seated beside the bunk he was lying in. When Nelson saw his eyes focus he smiled.

"Hello Lee. Welcome home." He said. Crane blinked a couple of times, trying to get rid of the fuzzy feeling in his head, then tried to roll off his side onto his back. Nelson put a hand on his hip to stop the movement and shook his head. "Jaime's got you propped up for a reason. The bullet was high on your left shoulder, but I don't think lying on your back would be very comfortable right now, that bruising looks painful."

"How…how long." Crane managed to croak out. Nelson immediately grabbed a cup off a nearby table and held it so that Crane could sip through the straw. Refreshed, Crane lay back and met Nelson's eyes again. "How long have I been here?"

"We brought you in yesterday. Do you remember what happened?"

"I remember the army men at the edge of the village. I remember getting shot and a big…explosion. A ride in a helicopter and a boat, that's about it." Crane replied.

"Well, you seem to have the high points. Let me fill in the spaces…." He told Crane what had happened, assuring him that casualties had been low, and that the old woman was all right as was Nerida. He was about to ask Crane about his experience when Jamieson came in from his office with a scowl.

"I step out for 15 minutes and look what happens. You were supposed to let me know when he woke up admiral." He chided. He went to Crane's bunk and looked at the monitors. He felt Crane's forehead. "How are you feeling captain?"

"Fine, Jaime. When can I get out of here?" Crane replied. Jamieson opened his mouth to blast the captain, but then saw the twinkle in the golden eyes, and snorted.

"Don't mess with me captain. I have a large bore needle with your name on it. Now, how are you really feeling?"

"My shoulder hurts a little, and I'm sore all over. My head is fuzzy."

"Get used to that for a bit. I have you on some strong pain meds. I don't want you moving around. You have a lot of fine stitching up in there, and I don't want you ripping any stitches." He walked over and got a hypodermic, quickly injecting the contents into the IV. "You'll be back to sleep in a few minutes. You should feel a little better when you wake up again." He stepped back from the bunk, allowing Nelson to move back to his chair.

"I'll stay until he drops off Jaime." Nelson said. The doctor scowled at him again, which caused Nelson to smile. The doctor rolled his eyes and retreated to his office, muttering about commanding officers.

Nelson laughed softly, and turned to find Crane fighting off sleep. The long lashed lids were barely open. He patted the undamaged hand. "Go to sleep Lee. I'll be here when you wake up."

"It was Pritchard." Crane whispered. "Did I tell you it was Pritchard?" He lost the battle with his eyelids, and a soft sigh escaped him as he slipped into a healing sleep. Nelson patted his hand again.

"You told me. We'll talk about it later when you're feeling better." Nelson said softly. The anger he had felt previously when he had first learned who was the cause of all this flared again. He longed to act, to take revenge in his turn, but he looked at the sleeping face of his captain and knew he couldn't do it. This whole thing had been the result of one man's lust for revenge. He wouldn't lower himself to Pritchard's level, or taint his relationship with Lee by doing something that would lower him in Crane's estimation. He ran a hand through the tousled black curls, and then left the sickbay. He would come back later and they would talk about what had happened, and what to do about it.

Chapter 18-

A week later Lee Crane was sitting on the dock that jutted out into the mountain lake on the shores of which Nelson's "cabin" was located. Not that it was a cabin so to speak. It was a magnificent A-frame log home with what amounted to a glass wall overlooking the spectacular blue lake. It was early summer here in the Northern hemisphere, and the hardwood trees interspaced among the evergreens were all leafed out. The lake water was just starting to warm up from its winter chill. It would not be truly warm even in the depths of summer as it was fed from glaciers farther up in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. It didn't matter to Crane, as he couldn't swim anyway. His shoulder was still bandaged, and he was walking around with a sling, when he couldn't arrange to 'forget' it. Nelson, however, had been adamant that he should follow Jamieson's instructions to the letter, and had made arrangements for everything from getting to the cabin to having frozen prepared meals stored in the freezer for easy preparation.

It was perhaps that insistence that had Crane thinking he had been hoaxed into coming here. He knew that Nelson was concerned for his health, and wanted him to get well, but there had been a little too much eagerness on the part of Nelson to comply with Jamieson's order to take a vacation. Crane knew that Nelson had been very upset when they had thought him dead and Jamieson had been very convincing in his diagnosis of the admiral's post traumatic stress syndrome, and equally clear that a week or two of complete rest would be the only possible cure. Morton had professed a deep worry about the older man, and had heartily endorsed the idea of Nelson getting away from it all and taking Crane with him. Yes, he had been hoaxed.

Not that he really minded. He had been in the sickbay until they arrived in Santa Barbara, and Jamieson had been quick with the painkiller that made him so foggy. He would have accused the man of intentionally doping him to keep him quiet, but he knew that Jamieson's ethics would not have allowed such a breach of medical practice. Nelson had insisted on having Sharkey fly them up here to the cabin in FS1, landing in the lake, to avoid the long drive. They had arrived the previous evening, and had gotten all settled in. Morton would be getting Seaview settled for a routine scheduled maintenance, and then would drive up to join them. They would all return together in Morton's car in about a week. All in all, the perfect vacation plan if he couldn't be on his submarine, a week or so in a beautiful place he had come to love, with the two men he considered family nearby.

The only dark spot was that he still had to tell them about what had happened. He had gotten away so far with telling them parts of the experience, mostly about his escape. Jaime's constant pain meds had enabled him to avoid most of the questions by pleading tiredness, but he knew the whole story would have to come out. It wasn't that he was ashamed of his performance so to speak; it's just that it was so embarrassing! How could he tell them that while they were grieving for him, some blond in a short skirt was forcefully propositioning him? It was like that bit of comedy that Greek play writers used to slip into a tragedy. He still didn't know who she was. Someone hired by Pritchard? She had spoken in such a way of Pritchard and his desire for revenge that she seemed familiar with the man, something more than an employee. Something in Crane, perhaps something honed by years in ONI and dealing with a variety of twisted and warped people, said that the woman wasn't a professional. She had angered too quickly and had made a vital mistake with the glass. That spoke of someone with a personal stake in the process, but what she could be to Pritchard he didn't know.

Leaning back against the thick piling that supported the dock he closed his eyes and let the cool spring breeze blow over him. In counterpoint to the warm sun it was delicious blowing over his bare arms and tousling his hair. He reminded himself that he needed to get a haircut before going back on duty. No unkempt locks for the captain, he needed to present a professional, in-charge image for the crew, and having a riot of curls all over his head wouldn't cut it. He was pleasantly tired, lethargic in the sun, and had no plans to move from this spot for as long as possible. Nelson had set out on a walk around the lake to the small general store at the other end. He would pick up a paper and some of the fresh baked goods the owner's wife produced from her prolific and popular kitchen. He allowed his thoughts and consciousness to drift off with the wind.

Nelson found his captain in the same position an hour later when he came back from his walk. He smiled at the still figure and went in to put the bag containing the breads he had purchased on the counter, and leave the paper on one of the sofas in the living room. He had enjoyed his walk, and was feeling a lot more relaxed than he had felt in the last week. He was glad that Crane felt comfortable enough to drowse in the sun. He had been concerned about the younger man, but had tried to contain his fatherly impulses to nursemaid the younger man at every step. He suspected that Crane had caught on to their little charade about him needing the time away, Nelson was in fact beginning to believe that the whole plan had actually been cooked up by Morton and Jamieson to get BOTH of the top officers off the boat. He was not too upset though since he did feel better, and he knew that Crane, though never truly happy to be away from his "Gray Lady", looked to be enjoying the vacation as well.

Nelson went back outside and onto the dock. He was sure that his movement on the floating dock would wake Crane, but he didn't move. Nelson felt a bit of uneasiness, usually Crane was very wary everywhere but on the boat, and given how things could be sometimes he was wary there too. He was not an easy man to sneak up on. He looked closely at Crane and could see his chest rising and falling. Well at least he was breathing Nelson thought. He wondered if he should try to wake him. The man needed his rest, but now Nelson was worried that he was unconscious not sleeping. He was starting forward when Crane spoke.

"I'm ok. I'm just enjoying the sun," he said, as if reading Nelson's mind.

"How did you know it was me?" Nelson asked, stepping back and sitting down against a piling across from Crane. Their outstretched legs touched, and Nelson could feel the sun warmed heat coming off the younger man's legs.

Crane's head lolled over and he opened his eyes looking at Nelson. He smiled. "I heard you come by with the bag before, and figured it wouldn't take you long to come back out. I could also smell your tobacco, and you have a distinctive walk." He rolled his head back up and closed his eyes, stretching a little. He reminded Nelson of a big cat, lolling in the sun, put ready to pounce if necessary. Nelson shook his head, smiling at the imagery.

"Do you mind if we talk a little?" he asked. He had been waiting for a chance to talk with Crane about what had happened. He knew some of it in bits and pieces, and he had filled Crane in on what had happened while he was thought dead. He was sure that Crane was avoiding the issue. He wasn't sure why, but he was going to find out.

"You want to know what happened while I was a prisoner." It wasn't a question. It was a statement.

"Would you quit reading my mind? It's disconcerting." Nelson griped.

Crane smiled, still without opening his eyes. Then his face became serious. "What do you want to know Harry?" It sounded casual, but the very fact that Crane had used his first name was an indication that all was not calm in the younger man.

"I know how you got away. You said you cut your ropes using some glass, the same glass that cut up your hand, and got out a window. From there you ran and got found by the rebels. But you have never said WHERE you were being held."

"It was a lab, a foreign owned pharmaceuticals lab, to the south of where we met." Crane said then paused. Nelson saw him shake his head as if deciding what NOT to add. "It was a Pritcorp lab, closed because of the unrest I guess."

Nelson felt the now familiar anger rise again. This was one of the reasons he had started the conversation that he knew Lee didn't want to have for some reason. He needed to deal with the anger. "How did you know it was Pritcorp? Was there a sign?" he asked

Crane opened his eyes and looked out over the lake, not meeting Nelson's eyes. "No there wasn't a sign that I could see, I was basically told that I was there because of Pritchard, and I found some materials that confirmed it when I was looking for anything that would be useful to take."

"You were told?" Nelson asked, "Who was in charge, Ortiz? Did he tell you?"

Again Crane seemed to pause, his eyes scanning the lake as if expecting the Seaview to surface off the dock. He shook his head. "Ortiz wasn't involved after the execution, at least not until he and his men showed up at the village. The person in charge was…" he stopped and turned his eyes to Nelson finally.

There was something in his eyes that Nelson couldn't identify for a moment then he realized it was embarrassment! Why would Crane be embarrassed about who his captor was. "Who exactly was in charge Lee?" he asked baldly.

"I never found out a name. The only one I ever heard was La Tiburon."

"The shark?" Nelson said, then thought again, "The FEMALE shark? The person in charge was a woman. That's…unusual for a Latin American country like Costa Nuestra." Nelson was well aware that women's Lib had not made it to the small country. Women were very much second-class citizens, and a woman in charge of anything except a kitchen was difficult to understand.

The golden eyes returned to the lake, studying the surface as if looking for…something. "She wasn't a native. She was tall and blond and looked like she just stepped out of a very expensive beauty salon somewhere like New York or Beverly Hills. Definitely money, definitely in charge, definitely not a regular player in this kind of thing."

Nelson took a moment to digest this unexpected turn. An American woman working for Pritchard he could understand. Pritchard was interested only in performance and profit, it probably didn't matter to him what your gender was, but to send someone who wasn't competent for the job wasn't something Pritchard would do. Crane had a lot of experience with this kind of thing, and would know the difference between a professional and someone who was not. "Tell me Lee, everything."

Crane looked back at him, and a small smile appeared. "Its kind of…..hard to explain. After they faked my execution they tossed me in a truck and brought me to the lab. They uh...tied me spread eagle on a big bed in what had to be executive quarters. Then uh…." He stopped, and Nelson was amused to see a blush start up Crane's face.

"What exactly did they do to you Lee?" Nelson said, trying to keep his amusement hidden.

Crane's blush deepened. "THEY didn't do anything. SHE…sent the guards out and uh….well she uh…." He stopped and sighed. There didn't seem to be any way to put it that didn't sound…..slimy. Even now it made him feel…dirty to even think about the way her hands had moved on him. He looked back at Nelson who was waiting for him to continue with a lifted brow. Crane hung his head in defeat. He couldn't get out of it. He would have to tell. Well, at least Chip wasn't here. He could just hear the laughter that would result, not to mention the ongoing jokes and teasing. "She uh….felt me up." There it was out.

Nelson let loose a snort, and then laughed. Crane turned wounded eyes on him, but he couldn't stop. He could see it now. Crane tied to the bed, the woman bending over him, evidently meaning to 'have her way with' him. It was an…interesting picture. In the midst of his amusement, he noticed that Crane had hung his head. As amusing as he found the moment, he never wanted to see that proud head dip in embarrassment. He stopped laughing. "I'm sorry Lee. I shouldn't have laughed. I'm sure it wasn't funny for you at the time." He said honestly. Crane lifted his head, and Nelson could see that Crane's eyes were alight with humor. Nelson shared a smile with Crane, and waved a hand indicating that he should continue.

Crane sighed again. This time he didn't look away. "She ran her hands all over me and suggested that she wanted to…have sex with me. She was pretty blatant about it. She seemed to be put out that I wouldn't…."He laughed, "Put out."

"How did you uh… get away with your virtue intact?" Nelson asked lightly, and then had a nasty thought. HAD he gotten away with his virtue? Nelson was by no means naïve about the things that could be done to a man against his will, had Crane…?

"Lee…" he started, his heart quaking.

"No!" Crane almost shouted, evidently following Nelson's thoughts again with ease. The blush flared again beneath his usual swarthy complexion. "No." he said again, quieter. "I made it clear I wasn't interested, and wouldn't cooperate. She got mad and made some threats. Made it clear that I had lost my chance at surviving. She had been planning to use some kind of new drug that wiped out short-term memory. She broke the hypo and the bottle with the drug. She was really pissed. She left in a huff, saying she'd be back later. That's when I got away. She had left her drink on the bed. I broke the glass and cut myself loose."

Nelson felt relief flow through him. He had been unsure what he would have done if Lee had been…. He couldn't even think it. He decided not to press for more information. If Crane needed to talk to someone about it, he would listen, but he could sense how difficult it was for Lee to speak of it, and he could understand the reluctance. He turned the conversation in another direction.

"Pritchard has evidently decided that we, I, was to blame for the damage to his submarine. I also imagine he is not too happy about the government watchdogs I set on his tail about the safety corners that he cut. I've heard through some channels that the cost to refit the boat will be prohibitive. I'm sure that really galls him. I never expected him to try to take any kind of revenge. I'm sorry Lee. I always seem to be saying that to you here."

Crane's head snapped up at that, and his incredulous eyes met Nelson's. "_You're_ sorry?" he said, his voice puzzled. "What for, for God's sake? It wasn't any of your doing."

Now Nelson was having a hard time meeting Crane's eyes. "It's my fault you were the target. Somehow Pritchard found out that you are my heir, my…Achilles heel. He chose to strike at me by using you. I should have taken precautions…"

"Precautions?" Crane interrupted. "What could you do, hire bodyguards 24 hours a day? Not only is it not practical but also you know as well as I do there is nothing they could do to keep me safe all the time. By the nature of my job I'm in danger on a regular basis. I accepted it a long time ago. I thought you had too. In any event, you are NOT responsible for that man's actions, his hate. Do you think that I would trade what we have, what we've built between us for any type of false sense of safety? Do you think that I wouldn't do anything, stand anything…." Crane was on his feet, towering over Nelson. Nelson pushed himself up, and stood toe to toe with the younger man.

"I don't want you to have to stand anything!" He bellowed. "I want you safe. I want you to live. I want to see your children, my grandchildren. I want…." He stopped. He put a hand on Crane's tense shoulder and squeezed. They stood there for a long time, staring into each other's eyes. Seeing all that they couldn't find the words to say. Finally Nelson nodded. He couldn't protect Crane the way he wanted to, the way his paternal instincts cried out for him to. He had to accept that again, as he had before this had happened. He had to trust in fate and in Lee Crane's survival skills and what Jamieson insisted was sheer cussedness. The only alternative was to turn Lee away, to fire him from the Institute and as captain of the Seaview, to send him back to the Navy. But he would be no safer there. He would still be Lee Crane, ONI agent, submarine captain, and trouble magnet. The only difference would be that Nelson wouldn't be there, Morton wouldn't be there, Jamieson wouldn't be there, the crew of the Seaview wouldn't be there to be sure that he survived what ever it was that he got into. Nelson couldn't bear that.

Crane saw it all in Nelson's eyes; the love, the desire to protect him, and the acceptance that he couldn't. Crane hoped that Nelson could see as well. The devotion, the respect, the admiration, the determination to hold on to everything that fate had allowed him. He couldn't change what he was, who he was, not even for Nelson. He had tried that before with disastrous results. As he looked into Nelson's eyes he knew that it wasn't expected of him. That Nelson accepted him as he was. They shared a smile.

Nelson raised his other hand and gently shook Crane by the shoulders, conscious of the wound. He looked around. In the course of their talk it had passed noon by several hours, and he became aware that he was hungry.

"I say we let Pritchard stew in his own juices. He'll get what he deserves. I feel like some lunch. Let's go see what there is to eat." He suggested.

Crane nodded and they started for the house. "You know Harry. I think Pritchard is going to be a little more peeved at us in a little while." A Nelson's puzzled look he gave a shamefaced little smile. "I kinda mentioned to Nerida how Pritchard was cooperating with Ortiz and that maybe a good target would be a certain lab in the south." They disappeared into the house, their laughter echoing over the lake.

Chapter 19-

Pritchard flung the report he had been reading across the room, swearing. Michaels, standing before the large desk, didn't bother to hide a small smile as the man turned in his chair to glare out the window. Michaels knew what was in the report, having compiled it himself within the previous hour. The Pritcorp lab facility in Costa Nuestra had been destroyed in a rebel attack, despite a rather large amount of bribes being paid to various factions to forestall such actions. To make matters worse, their main contact in the government, Enrique Ortiz, former commander of the Costa Nuestra army, had been forced to flee the country to avoid being executed for crimes against the government. It had been found that he was taking a large amount of bribes from foreign nationals to protect their interests not only from the rebels, but also from the new government's sometimes-arbitrary nationalization of foreign owned businesses. There had also been the suggestion that Ortiz had been maneuvering to make an attempt to take over the government. He had left one step in front of the firing squad he had once commanded.

The fact that he had fled directly to Lucinda Pritchard, who had greeted him with open arms so to speak, was an extra irritant. The two had left this morning for the Pritcorp-Asia Headquarters in Peking. Corporate lawyers, routed out of their beds very late the previous night had suggested that retreating to a country with no formal extradition treaty with the United States would be a good idea for the foreseeable future, should certain persons wish to press charges. No names were mentioned, but Michaels, who had learned over the years that the door to the office he shared with Pritchard's other personal secretaries was not thick enough to block out the conversations being held in the main office, knew who they had in mind. He had heard the plot against Nelson and his captain, and had wished there was some way he could warn the man what was coming, but he didn't have the resources to reach Nelson in Costa Nuestra, at least not in time. He owed Crane, He could have been seriously hurt when the Tantalus crashed, and they all could be dead had it not been for Nelson. If Pritchard couldn't be grateful, Michaels was. Pritchard turned the chair back around, and Michaels schooled his features back to blank. He recognized that set jaw and flashing eye. Pritchard was in a mood, and there was no telling what he might do next.

"Michaels get Rutherford at the ship yard. I want the Tantalus fully operational in two months." He ordered.

Michaels shifted from one foot to another. "He uh…said it would take at least three to get everything done to the new codes…"

"To hell with the codes. What do we pay those bozos in Washington for? Have them push through a bill, or get me a variance, or something. Remind them it's an election year for a good portion of the house AND senate, and Pritcorp's political donations can go to more cooperative people if necessary."

"I'll start making the calls." Michaels turned top go to his office, stopping to pick up the various pages of the flung report as he went.

"One more thing," Pritchard said, "Get me that list of perspective captains we had made up. I want someone there to protect my interests that knows what he's doing. Did you get the background checks done on all of them?"

"Yes sir. Do you want me to get that first, or make the calls?"

Pritchard waved a hand, and got to his feet. He went to the bar and poured a glass of scotch, neat. "Get it later. I have some thinking to do." It was a dismissal, and Michaels went into his office and closed the door.

Pritchard took his drink and went out on the balcony of the suite. He looked out over the city, and sipped his scotch. Yes, he had some serious planning to do. He was going to get the Tantalus operational, ready to do what she had been made to do. Mine the ocean bottom. Let the board howl all they wanted. His mind was made up. Nelson had won the last two rounds, it wouldn't happen again, and he'd be sure Crane suffered too.

Lucinda had swore that at no time had her name been mentioned, so that meant that while Crane would know that Pritchard was behind the plan, he had no idea who she was. But the threat remained. If Crane should find out who she was, he could make a rather large amount of trouble. It would put Lucinda, and through her Pritchard himself, at Crane and Nelson's mercy, not a place he wanted to be. That meant Crane would have to be dealt with eventually. Now that he knew what the man meant to Nelson the idea of getting rid of that particular loose end had an extra added attraction.

He leaned against the rail of the balcony, and raised his glass to the horizon. "You won it this time Nelson, but you'll loose in the end. You'll lose everything!"

The End….for now.


End file.
